Piers Anthony - Rings of Ice

“No sugar.” Karen echoed faintly.

“What is this thing about sweets?” Zena demanded. “Don’t you have more serious concerns than spoiling your teeth?”

“I’m sorry,” Karen said. And began trembling.

She just wasn’t about to admit she was an addict! Well, maybe she was trying the cold-turkey cure, and those candy bars had become a counter-fixation. Unfortunately the candy was gone already, used as food for the group. Karen had eaten more than her share. Distraction was best, now.

Zena brought out the battered cards. “Honeymoon bridge again?”

“Yes!” It was like grasping a liferaft.

But the game did not go well, though Karen was ordinarily a good hand at it. She misplayed frequently. “Can’t you even see the cards?” Zena asked sharply. “You just threw away an ace from your dummy, dummy!”

“I thought it was a deuce.”

“A deuce! You’re seeing double!”

“More like a blur,” Karen admitted.

“Karen, are you sure you don’t want to say something?”

“What?”

“You’re shaking, you’re panting, you’re cross-eyed. Are you ill?”

“I’m hungry! Some sugar…”

“Forget the darn sugar!”

Gus looked back from the front seat. “You mean ‘damn,’ don’t you?”

“Damn!” Zena cried with feeling. It was a better word. “Karen, I asked you a question!”

Karen looked confused. “What question?”

“Are you ill? Or is it—something else?”

“Something else?”

Zena threw her hands up in an overdramatic gesture that cost her half her cards. “You’re evading the issue!”

“I wonder where it is?” Karen murmured, standing unsteadily.

“Where what is?”

“The issue.” Karen leaned over to peer under the table. “Not here.”

Zena, sure now that she was being mocked, was silent.

Karen tried to stand erect again, but lost her balance and spun sidewise, half-falling against the table. One hand struck the wall that enclosed the adjacent shower-stall. Zena was shocked to see blood welling from scraped knuckles. This had passed beyond the joking stage!

But Karen didn’t seem to notice. “Got to go home,” she said, trying again to stand.

“You can’t go home! Look at your hand!”

She looked. “Oooo, icky! Must wash it. Take a shower.” She started to undress.

They had undressed in semi-public many times, but this was different. No one was going out into the rain now. “Stop the bus!” Zena cried, alarmed. “Karen’s sick!”

Thatch obligingly slowed the vehicle. Gloria appeared, in her nightgown and curlers. Zena noted that only passingly: hair curlers for a wig?

“Who are you, miss?” Karen demanded.

“You know Gloria,” Zena said. “Gloria, Gordon, our cook?”

Karen whirled around, letting her shirt fling wide, and fell against Gloria. “Hello, Gloria Gordon! What kind of a lesbian are you?”

Gloria looked puzzled, but automatically caught her. The sight of Karen’s genuine bosom against Gloria’s false one disgusted Zena. “Are you feeling well?” Gloria asked.

“No,” Karen said, and began to cry. “Zena’s been teasing me.”

“She’s been getting worse—” Zena said, stung. “I think it’s withdrawal.”

“Sugar,” Karen blubbered.

“Sugar,” Gloria repeated. Then, abruptly: “God, yes! Get her some sugar, right away!”

Thatch shook his head. “We don’t have any. She ate it all before.”

“Well, something sweet!” Gloria cried. “Quick, it’s an emergency!”

“This is no time for candy—” Zena began.

“Can’t you see,” Gloria said. “It’s hypoglycemia.”

“What?”

“Low blood sugar. Insulin shock. This girl has diabetes!”

“Diabetes!” Zena echoed, mouth open.

Thatch dived into the breadbox. “Here’s an old sweet roll.”

“Break off a piece with icing and put it in her mouth. Hurry—before she goes into shock!”

Thatch obeyed. Gingerly he pushed a fragment between Karen’s teeth while Gloria held her upright. “Chew it, dear,” Gloria said. “Swallow. Don’t choke, now! That’s it!”

Karen did so. They fed her another piece.

In less than a minute she straightened and looked around. “What am I doing here?” Karen asked. “Why are you holding me?”

“She couldn’t recover that fast!” Zena said.

Gloria let Karen go, and made a warning motion to Zena. “You were about to pass out, dearie.”

“Nonsense. I was playing cards with Zena.” She paused. “Sugar.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were diabetic?” Gloria demanded.

Karen sat down. “I see I banged my hand.”

“Don’t you remember?” Zena asked, still suspicious of these strange symptoms.

“That’s right, I don’t remember. I never do.”

Thatch looked concerned. “How often does this happen?”

Karen took the rest of the sweet roll from his hand and began munching on it. “Only when I take insulin and then don’t get enough to eat.”

“Insulin is dangerous,” Gloria said. “You could have gone right on into shock and died, because we didn’t know. You should have told us!”

Karen looked at her. “Did you tell the folks about your condition—right off?”

Gloria’s face froze. Then she smiled, a trifle grimly. Zena realized that shaving the chin must be a vital part of the Gordon-Gloria changeover, for any suggestion of a beard would have destroyed the effect. Gus and Thatch were getting to look like hoboes, but Gloria’s cheek was smooth. “I see your point.”

“I don’t see it!” Gus said. “Changing clothes won’t kill anyone. Going into a coma like this—”

“Not a coma,” Karen said. “Shock. There’s a difference.”

“Different names for the same thing, aren’t they?” Gus insisted. “You pass out—”

“With insulin shock I pass out because there is not enough glucose in my blood. With diabetic coma there is too much. Sugar wouldn’t stop the coma.”

“So you kept silent because you were embarrassed,” Zena said.

“Not precisely,” Karen said, licking the last crumbs off her fingers. “I realized from what you said that it would rain for a long time, and I didn’t want to be stranded.” She looked out the window, and the beat of rain seemed to become loud. “I have plenty of insulin, but without shelter or food—”

“What do you think we are!” Zena exclaimed.

“Practical people,” Gloria answered for Karen. “Diabetics require more food, when they’re on insulin—and they need it on schedule. She’s a liability. Right, Gus?”

Zena was affronted. “How can you say a thing like that!”

“We can’t put her out,” Gus said, alarmed.

Then Zena realized Gloria’s purpose. Gus was the one most likely to demand selection of the fittest—but he had already been subverted by Karen’s sexual offerings. Gloria had challenged Gus and brought an automatic denial—and now it would be extremely difficult for Gus to reverse himself or to enforce an inhumane standard for the rest of them.

Unkind politics, but better than putting a sick woman out to die! No wonder Karen had been eager to be obliging. She had known that one day soon her life might depend on it.

“Get on with the driving, Thatch!” Gus said irritably.

On through the rain. Floy amused herself by trying to dance—and the result was pitiful. In the confines of the bus she only bruised herself against the furniture and made a racket. Sometimes Gordon danced with her, holding her very close so that she could not go astray—and that bothered Zena because she remembered Karen’s ‘lesbian’ comment. Gordon was male, but viewed himself as female, and this body-flush-to-body motion with the awkward child—but of course she was inventing hobgoblins, Zena told herself. Floy would have driven them all crazy, if Gordon had not taken her in hand and found positive outlets for her graceless energies.