Allison stared. “What about David?”
“He passed yesterday.”
“But he just turned twelve.”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” said Kyoko. “Children always take on responsibilities at earlier ages in frontier societies.”
No more parental control? That sent her back to square one. “Listen, folks,” Allison warned. “Children who wear credos can encounter programs which upset them, and they can get visited by all sorts of strangers, like this ‘salesperson’ who came to Dave today.”
Kyoko shook her head and pressed Allison’s arm.
“‘Provisions supplier,’” she whispered.
“Allison,” called Anne. “Where is David tonight? Perhaps we should hear from him.”
“Well—he’s at home. Doing his homework,” she added defensively. “Besides, he’s on call in case the late shift needs a hand.”
“Perhaps the Tech Center needs volunteers to fill in occasional nights,” Anne suggested. “Dave is certainly old enough to contribute to Friends business.”
“Well. Of course.”
Martha said, “Perhaps we may agree that considerable self-education in these matters is indicated for us all. Anything further, Allison?”
“The question of voting by credometer is significant, since UNI does not run by consensus. I did talk with Silva, the Adjustor, about this yesterday. She explained the philosophy of voting, and how it works for such a large population.”
Clifford nodded. “Friends have abided that, historically. But who are the ‘candidates’? Robots?”
Allison was irritated; such nonsense only made things worse.
Lowell asked, “Allison, would you tell us more about your talk with Friend Silva? I for one would be glad to know her feelings at this point.”
She cleared her throat, mindful of the credometers. “We exchanged views on, er, contact so far. Silva said she thought that we were making good progress but that…conflicts were bound to crop up along the way. She also said that Foxfielders were going to find many wonderful things in this new, expanded world.”
Lowell nodded. “It is well that you have developed such a close rapport with our new friends.”
“But, of course,” said Clifford ironically. “They rule their whole society by machine—they must think my sister does the same.”
“Clifford,” said Martha, “such talk is hardly helpful.”
For her part, Allison was stunned. She had not seen things in that light before.
Martha saw that Allison had had enough. “I suggest we ask the next Monthly Meeting to consider whether credometers violate our Light, and if so, how. Are we in accord?”
Kyoko looked like she wished to say something, but refrained.
“So noted. Frances will now tell us about modern medicine.”
“Back to ‘wonders’ and ‘adjustments,’” said Frances. “Wonders first. To my mind, the biggest advances are in limb regeneration and in control of aging. And in vitro foetal development has revolutionized family planning. I could go on about this, but—don’t let me get started.
“Now, here are the caveats. One—the body of each UNI citizen becomes property of the state upon decease, for purposes of study, organ culturing and so forth. Secondly—” She paused and turned. “Friend Casimir, am I correct in saying that permanent sterilization is required of all citizens upon physical maturity?”
“Yes,” said Casimir. “But all personal genotypes go into permanent storage.”
Several hands shot up.
“Let’s see,” said Martha, “Bill?”
“Well,” said Bill, “I happen to think we can live with those terms just fine. We encourage organ donation, anyway. As for in vitro pregnancy and all, why it sounds like a mighty fine thing to relieve our women of such a strain, especially when we’re aiming to double our numbers each generation.”
“Now that brings up item number three—”
“Frances, please,” said Martha gently.
“Sorry.”
“Anne?”
“The question of choice concerns me,” said Anne. “Each of us should have the right to control his or her own body. Many women find child-bearing to be a fulfilling, rewarding experience…I confess I don’t know why this is not the case for other UNI citizens, but I see a definite problem here.”
“True enough,” said Martha. “Edward?”
Edward said, “Friends have never sanctioned organ donation against the conscience of the donor. We have always held this to be a private decision.”
A woman jumped up, back several rows on the left. “You folks have all missed the point. It’s plain as day they don’t care about our conscience, any more than our Light, so why are we wasting our breath?”
“Martha,” Frances demanded, “I must insist. UNI will have something to say about our growth rate from now on—which will include immigration…”
“Immigration? How much?” Clifford demanded.
“A thousand per year was suggested. But the fact is—”
“What?” He jumped out of his seat. “Do you know what that will do to us in five years? In one year, for that matter.”
Frances glared at him. “Well I didn’t write the Charter. What option do you suggest? Those of us who took credometers may already have lost what little choice we had.”
Kyoko objected to this. “You haven’t lost anything; you’ve only gained the privileges of citizens. And the Special Status provision gives Foxfielders extra flexibility, for now.”
Indignant murmurs returned nonetheless. Someone asked what “Special Status” was, and Kyoko explained. Rashernu sat sleepily in the aisle, and Allison wondered what the commensal made of it all.
“I think,” said Martha at last, “that one question demands an answer before we proceed further. Friend Kyoko, from your viewpoint, just what choice have we in any of the issues raised so far?”
Kyoko rose and spoke with care. “These issues are complex. Our first priority is consistency: fair and equal treatment for all citizens everywhere. So we must maintain uniform standards. You as citizens have one sure way to influence those standards: your vote. For example, present credo-wearers will recall a recent referendum on the Senior Self-determination Factor.”
“Yes,” said Frances, “the Self-termination Factor, I call it. That was fourth or fifth on my list. With lengthened lifespan, it seems, some folks get tired of hanging around waiting for their eternal reward, so this Factor makes it easier for them to choose their own—”
Allison clapped a hand to her mouth. “You mean,” she whispered, “I voted for that?”
Noah stood and cried out, “How can Friends abide such wanton extinction of the Light?”
The night sky blazed with aurora as Allison and Seth walked home. Silent sheets of flame undulated far above them as charged particles from the solar wind surrendered to the planet’s magnetic vortex and rained upon the stratosphere. Electrons struck gaseous atoms of oxygen and nitrogen, causing “forbidden” quantum leaps to higher energy states, whose decay produced bursts of electromagnetic radiation at precise frequencies throughout the spectrum. Two oxygen shifts were most visible: the green singlet-singlet transition at 5577 angstroms, and the red triplet-singlet at 6300. And so the long curtains alternated heavenly pastures and hell fire.
Allison also knew of thousands of lesser transitions in the visible region alone; not just oxygen, but also nitrogen, nitrogen cations, nitroxide radicals…The human eye could not distinguish these, but a good spectrograph would reveal the lines for each species’ fraction of the light.
Seth walked as though in a trance, unable to turn his eyes from the sky. Allison had to pull him from the brink of a pothole more than once. She swore and muttered to herself that, say what they liked about the Center, it was high time the Meeting sent a roads crew to fix up the fragmented pavement which made her one-kilometer hike from the Meeting House a perilous journey. But she knew as well that given the unhurried cycle of Wheelwr
ight’s sun, the road would never stay smooth for long.
“Look there.” Seth pointed out over the bank. A dim glow hovered over the bushes, like a smoky campfire.
“Is it—can we go see?”
They walked down from the road across the springy ground moss. A cluster of commensals stood in the hollow. Their coronas were closed but they sent aloft colored streams and blobs of phosphorescent gases, as if responding to the auroral lights.
“Awake, or asleep?” Allison whispered.
“Both.” He stared in concentration.
“What are they saying, Seth? Can you read the scents?”
After interminable minutes, Seth began. “‘Waking…in dark, damp…cold roots cry out for…time cuts rooted things…greatest energy wave of sky draws out roots…changes gases to sugars and sugars to…but forbidden to return, and time sheds a tear for each level more before forbiddenness ends…’ The branches tangle, Sonnie,” he concluded.
Allison watched on dreamily. “Do they really shed tears, Seth?”
“No,” he said, “but it’s the nearest thought I can find.”
The gases and the sky lights seemed to intertwine as she watched; they became wheat fields bending before the wind, dolphins breaching the crests, mobilist shows in the transcomm. What need had Foxfield of mobilists when auroras danced in the night?
Then her eye caught a bright object near zenith, too small for a moon, but unwavering amid the folds of red and green. She recalled what it was. “Seth, look—like a star, see? That’s the UNIS-11.”
Seth’s face slowly darkened. “I think we should send all those frog-suits back where they came from, ship and all.”
“Seth! What kind of attitude is that?” She stared at his taut features.
“Realistic. We don’t get along and never will.”
“Nonsense. How could we ‘send them back,’ even if we wanted to?”
“The One can.”
She paused at this unexpected suggestion. “How? What can commensals do about all those humans?”
“I think it’s all a fake. How do we know that world really exists out there? Maybe it’s just the one ship, escaped from the holocaust.”
“That’s preposterous, and you know it.”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But I wish it were so, Sonnie.”
Abruptly her mental vision transformed. The world on which she stood, the world of Friends and Fractions, was not solid but utterly fragile, a crystal glass with a narrow stem, set on the dark floor of the universe; while the lights above were not streams of evanescent particles to disperse by dawn, but the ponderous robes of a God who strode the ways above, heedless of a glass caught at the hem and shattered below. She felt an impulse to reach up and tear aside the folds; but what then, if only darkness lay behind?
In her mind a decision was taking shape, as a planet coalesces from the eddies of a young star.
She found both Bill and Noreen in a state of agitation at the Center.
“Noreen, what are you doing here?” Allison demanded. “It’s Bill’s turn, isn’t it?”
Noreen looked up, her orange curls askew. “Thank God you’re back. Allison, we’ve lost everything—not just the short wave, but the long wave, AM and FM, the whole works. The ion shower’s emitting all across the spectrum, from radio to x-ray; I’ve never seen the like.”
“Worse than the last one,” Allison admitted. “But does it help to run around like a chicken with its head cut off?”
“Boss, you’ve got to do something,” said Bill.
“What am I, a magician?”
“But that’s not all,” Noreen went on. “The magnetic field lines have gone crazy, shifting hundreds of gauss; it’s messing up every circuit in the Center.”
Bill snapped his fingers. “Let’s call our citizen friends; if anyone can help us out, they can.”
Noreen tossed her head. “What do you think credos run on—neutrinos? Allison, we’re completely wiped out; we can’t reach the settlements or anybody. What if someone gets sick, or has an accident? What will we do? We can’t communicate.”
Allison sighed and leaned back on her desk. “I know an old saying that’ll solve everything.”
“What?” they chorused.
“‘This, too, shall pass.’”
If only her own dilemma were that simple. Martha was the one; by Thursday, perhaps, Allison would be ready to face her.
Silva Maio made an unexpected appearance at the worship meeting on Thursday. At its close, she rose and announced, “I apologize for last night’s temporary contact lapse. Aseda is upgrading our ionosphere stabilizers to deal more effectively with Foxfield’s unusual planetary magnetism. She also proposes installation of a graviton network for emergency use.”
Gravity waves? Allison couldn’t wait to see how that would work—but no, she mustn’t think of that now.
The Foxfielders soon swarmed about the Adjustor. Allison found Martha and tapped her on the shoulder. “Please; a word with you in the annex, when you’re done?”
“Of course,” said Martha, noting the programmer’s bare wrist. “I’ll be there shortly.”
Allison worked her way down the aisle, but Frances caught her.
“Allison, have I got a case for you. Remember that poor fellow who used to live on the hillside?”
“The ‘tooth-radio man’? How could I forget?”
Frances nodded. “Used to pick up all the Center transmissions in his teeth.”
“Gold fillings, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, no; helped a bit when I replaced them, but not much. That’s why he moved to Coral Vale, but he’s back for a few days to see the ship, and he was moaning and groaning away in the infirmary all night. Said it was like thunder rolling in his head all night—”
“The aurora?”
“Right. Don’t get those down south, either, lucky for him.”
“Imagine. Not the fillings, you say?”
“Nope,” Frances assured her. “Some chemical interaction. A few cases on record in my old Earth texts, but no definitive explanation. When I find out, I’ll put you out of business.”
“Still need a transmitter.”
“Ah, well.” Frances shrugged. “Back to medicine, then. I won’t keep you, dear, you look distracted.”
Allison got out at last and went to the side room. It was a plain room, with a timeworn desk and some very old books on the shelf. There were two chairs; she sat in one and tried to steady her hands.
Martha entered, and closed the door. “So what can I do for you, Allison?” She took the other chair.
“Well, I—” She kneaded her hands together. “I think I have to resign from the Tech Center, and I want to tell you why.”
“I see.” Martha’s eyes were deep gray pools. “We all feel a great strain at this time. Your brother’s words were unfortunate, the other night.”
“Oh, it’s not that, really—” She stopped. “The fact is, I feel that the position I’ve fallen into now requires a person of greater faith…to serve Foxfield’s interests at this time.”
“I see,” said Martha. “I am sorry to hear that these feelings trouble you again.”
“No, no, that’s all long past.”
“Is it, Allison?”
“Of course, eleven years,” she went on in weary recitation. “The river was white and wild, like a Van Gogh—my folks had no chance, they lived down the bank. I got out with the baby, but Josh was never found. I didn’t kill him just by not finding him.”
“Of course not. But the memory bears down on you, nonetheless.”
“Not really. It’s been eleven years,” Allison repeated.
“But you limit yourself all the same.”
“What?” Allison frowned, taken aback. “You mean with Seth? Seth doesn’t want any more ties. That’s why he takes off at odd times; Coral Vale folks are like that—” She stopped, recalling that confrontation the morning the shuttle had first landed.
“I won’t speak
for Seth,” said Martha, “but you do limit yourself now, because of our visitors. Why don’t you trust yourself?”
“That’s different.” The programmer shifted in her chair. “These people—they’re so powerful, and I can’t deal with them. The Meeting seems to think I know what’s going on, but I’m afraid I’ll make some ghastly mistake.”
“The Meeting will manage. As for yourself, I thought you were getting on rather well.”
“Well…frankly, that Adjustor gives me the creeps.”
“I see.” Martha digested this pronouncement. “Now, why do you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, she told me she used to play the Stargo games. You know about the ‘games’?”
“A little.”
“They’re like games, only the players get killed for real. Supposed to channel aggressive drives.”
Martha nodded.
“She said she played in them, do you understand?” Tears started down her face. “She killed people, that makes her a murderer,” Allison sobbed, “and I never shook hands with a murderer before.”
She buried her face in her hands, and Martha rocked her shoulder gently. “So sorry,” Allison muttered, unconsciously picking up Kyoko’s inflection.
“Don’t be, at all,” said Martha. “You have to let it out, now.”
She rubbed her eyes and looked up once more.
“Allison. There are many different…ways, different paths in life, some of which you or I may never understand. And because we’ve been isolated so long on Foxfield, the differences may seem unbearable just now.”
“But killing is never ‘right,’ ever. Is it, Martha?”
Martha reflected. “If you really believe that, why are you afraid of yourself? You began by saying, or implying, that your own faith was weak. Do you fear that you might become like Silva; that you might ‘sell us out,’ in some sense?”
Allison stared dully across the desk.
“You know that self-questioning is nothing to be ashamed of. George Fox was but the first of many great Friends who have agonized over faith.”
Still Forms On Foxfield Page 13
