Lois Bujold - The Flowers of Vashnoi

“Oh.” Jadwiga looked more confused than thrilled at this news, though Ingi, who had brightened at the mention of the van, shot Ekaterin a sudden sharp look, beseeching hope muted by who-knew-what harsh experiences of disappointment and frustration. Ekaterin bit her lip on promises she could not yet guarantee.

“But what about the goats and ponies?” Jadwiga turned to Vadim. “You’ll come back ‘n take care of them while we’re gone, right?”

Vadim exchanged a grim look with Ingi. “I probably won’t be able to come back here.”

“But who will take care of them?”

Boris said glumly, in the tone of one who knew just who won the dirty jobs, “I s’ppose Vadim and I have got to shoot t’em.”

“Oh, no!” Jadwiga wailed, her little eyes filling with tears.

Enrique looked up from where he was opening a canister. “What’s all this?”

Vadim explained unhappily, “Any domestic animals that can’t be turned loose have got to be put down. It’s less cruel in the long run.”

Enrique blinked, then said reasonably, “Well, then, why don’t we move them to that back paddock at the Butterbug Ranch? We’re not using it for anything. We can declare it a quarantine zone. I should very much like to have some large mammals with prolonged exposure to the zone to study.”

Oh, bless you . Trust Enrique to see opportunities where everyone else just saw impossibilities. That his same speculative eye also fell on the three youths was an observation Ekaterin kept to herself. They’re large mammals too, I suppose .

In any case, Jadwiga dried up. “Is it a nice place?”

“Yes,” said Ekaterin, “and later you can come visit.”

“Oh.”

Boris looked heartened as well. All the disruption being forced on these people’s lives, and this offer was what got them all on board? Let it be for a lesson . This day had been entirely too full of lessons.

“We better go help Ma,” Boris sighed, “or she’ll be yellin’.”

“And cuffin’,” Jadwiga agreed cheerily, with no evident fear or resentment.

After some brief resistance from Ingi, who was much more interested in the radbugs and Enrique’s doings, Boris herded the other two off in rather standard big-brotherly style. Ekaterin thought of her son Nikki and the twins.

After that, the three adults fell to rapid and efficient bug-wrangling, with careful scans around for any deceased experimental subjects.

“What are you going to do with these bugs?” Ekaterin asked Enrique as he sealed down the first lid.

“Eh, that’s a bit of a puzzle. The first test run is now quantitatively disrupted, not to mention procedurally contaminated, though there’s enough in the qualitative results so far to send me back to the drawing board anyway.”

“Me, too, I’m afraid,” said Ekaterin with regret. “It seems I made the bugs too pretty, this time. Which is what kicked all this off.”

“No such thing as a too-pretty bug,” said Enrique stoutly. “But I’m thinking we want a modified design that will drill into the subsoil directly, like paracoprids, for the most efficient contaminant recovery. Maybe paired with a surface model, so this work isn’t wasted, necessarily.”

“Hm.” She eyed the ranger, who was still looking unhappy though not so congealed. “What were you going to do with them, Vadim?”

He cleared his throat, and muttered, “Put t’em back in the test plot.”

“Oh, dear, no!” said Enrique. “Worst choice. I’ll take them back to the Ranch, to the quarantine shed, and run their analysis separately. We’re going to have a careful counting job when we wind up the first test plot. Would you like me to fly your lightflyer back to the decontamination station, Ekaterin?” He sighted down the sleeve of his uncompromised rad suit. “Since it seems I’m the only one among us who isn’t going to be stuck the night at Hassadar General.”

“Yes, please.” And that was apparently that, as far as Enrique was concerned. Vadim grew slightly less rigid. That would not be that as far as Miles was concerned, but the ranger cadre was in his chain of command, not Ekaterin’s. One ugly job that wouldn’t land on her, great. Though she supposed she’d have to listen to Miles vent, later.

Vadim was just gathering up two filled canisters to lug to their vehicles, when a muffled shout sounded from the direction of the hut, of a deep timbre that could only be from Boris, and a frightened squeal that might be Jadwiga. Startled, Ekaterin stood, then started forward at a second cry. Then broke into a run as the hut came into sight, with smoke issuing not from its chimney, but from a side window. Vadim spat an oath and matched her stride. Perplexed, Enrique followed.

They all scrambled up the ladder and across the porch, banging open the door, then paused at an inexplicable scene. The bedding was on fire, smoking orange flickers stinking of some vile home-brewed distilled spirits used as an accelerant, the air churning acrid gray with it. Jadwiga cowered in a corner, crying, with Ingi hovering over her in a posture of uncertain protection. Boris and Ma Roga were locked together in the middle of the floor in a struggle over a long and wickedly sharp-looking kitchen knife.

Ma huffed in a demented determination, clenching and wrenching. Boris’s eyes were white-wide with horror. They stumbled, knocking over a table, kicking through the grocery sacks; food packages spilled across the floor.

Aghast, Vadim pulled his stunner and tried to take aim at the lunging, lurching Boris. Ekaterin saw his mistake at once, and snarled, “Give me that!”

She plucked the stunner from his fist, dropped to one knee, and fired.

Her shot took Ma Roga square in the head. Buzzed by the nimbus, Boris fell back wheezing and flung the knife away. It spun clattering under a burning bunk. Blood streaked scarlet on his neck and hands.

“Boris, carry Ma out! Vadim, get Ingi and Jadwiga out!”

“I’ll see what I can do about this fire,” said Enrique, passing her up. “Hold your breath and go.”

Yes, he was the only one wearing protective gear; his suit would give him some shielding from the heat, and full protection from smoke inhalation. Trained for all levels of chemical laboratory emergencies, he was, if not exactly calm, focused and unpanicked. Ekaterin turned to helping drag the distraught Jadwiga.

They heaved back out the door. Ma was a dead weight, Jadwiga worse for her squirming, but they manhandled everyone down the long ladder with no broken necks. They all stumbled a few meters off and turned to stare.

Burning bedding was pitched from the side window, and more through the door and over the porch. A few more miscellaneous flammables followed, flames choking out as they fell and bounced; and then, at length, Enrique, his white suit only a shade scorched. He climbed carefully down. “Got it out, I think,” he panted. “The cabin won’t go up, but don’t go back in till we’re sure.”

“Why,” gasped Vadim to Ekaterin, hands on his knees as he caught his breath, “did you shoot Ma ?”

Shortly, she would be sick and shaking. In this stretched present, she was still floating on an adrenaline high the like of which she hadn’t felt since that incident of destruction in a Komarran jump-point station docking bay, lord, over five years ago. “Couldn’t you see? Boris wasn’t trying to knife Ma. Ma was trying to knife Boris .”

And then, presumably, Ingi and Jadwiga, in descending order of difficulty. And then turn the knife inward as the flames licked up, like some mad makeshift barbarian funeral sacrifice?

Boris and Ingi both nodded. Boris was not-quite-crying; Jadwiga was blubbering; Ingi could not look any paler, but his face was set and shocked. “ Why? ” he cried.