“Won’t it walk by itself? I’m busy.” She slapped down another card.
“Friend Allison. What would your Meeting say?”
“At least I’m no voyeur. Gin. All right, what’s your infernal gadget look like?”
“You’ll know when you touch it.”
She climbed out of the vehicle and started to rummage through the assortment of artifacts in back.
Bill called, “Hey, wait a minute; you have to give me a chance to recoup.”
The objects were labeled in Japanese characters; Allison spotted a tai here, a ka there. When she touched one of them, her wristband beeped. “That’s it,” said Casimir’s voice.
She put on her filter mask, opened an umbrella and took the attachment out to the observers.
“Thanks,” said Casimir. “Now let me get this straight,” he told Seth. “Each of the five Fractions opens at the frontal fissure, and they fuse in a ring, at the frontal folds…”
Allison had never seen it up so close before. The ring of Fractions, just a dozen meters distant, looked like a giant tree stump with a leafy top, drenched in the rain. She could see no seam or ridge to indicate where one Fraction left off and another began.
“Yes,” said Seth, “They fuse into one organism to form the seed. The neural nets intermingle gradually.”
“Like the Dwelling, in microcosm,” Allison added.
“Curious,” said Casimir. “We’re picking up some new bursts of electrical activity now.”
Allison peered over at the equipment. “So what does it all mean?”
Rissa said, “We’ll require much more data; this is just the beginning. Then follows analysis.” The tall, goggled doctor looked like a mythical sea monster as she spoke.
Casimir added, “We must study more individual Fractions, as well. In fact, we’d really like to take one—invite one, that is, back to the ship for detailed observation. Can you recommend any ways for us to make the ship environment more comfortable for them?”
“Rig up a strong magnet,” Allison suggested. “Ghareshl swooned as the planetary field strength diminished.”
“That reminds me,” said Rissa. “You promised to come back some time for a modern medical checkup, after your blackout on the ship two weeks ago.”
Allison winced. “So I did.”
“What’s this?” Seth glared through his filter mask. “Not enough for you to spend a day prying at the One, so you have to poke at Allison, too?”
“It’s okay, Seth,” she reassured him. “Frances said I should go ahead.”
Toward evening the Fractions began to disjoin, and the humans returned to the surface vehicle. The sun was low on the horizon as the vehicle took off across the long plains. Bill unpacked drinks and sandwiches. Casimir and Rissa argued over their data, and Allison dozed off against Seth’s shoulder.
A System alarm roused her with a shock. “Medic-alert, medic-alert…”
The Foxfielders automatically grabbed their masks. The vehicle plunged and buried its nose in the moss.
“We’re sealed off now,” said Rissa, “but the air vent was open next to Casimir. Cas, are you okay?”
They exchanged some Japanese. Casimir’s credometer continued to sputter.
Bill said, “The air sampler—something got in, allright—”
“But we’re far off by now,” said Allison.
“Look there,” said Seth.
Outside, commensals were gathering at a spot some distance behind; a hundred at least, already, converging from all directions.
“And we’re off the road,” Seth noted. “Why the hell are we off the road?”
“We’re stuck,” Rissa added. “That ground moss must have incredible tensile strength.”
Casimir slumped in his seat.
Rissa adjusted his position and continued talking with the System. Allison caught the word for “shuttle.” She grabbed the doctor’s arm. “No, you can’t have the shuttle! Don’t you see all the ’mensals out there? They’ll go crazy; there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
Rissa eyed her severely. “Casimir is acutely ill; his life may be in danger. I must get him to the ship.”
“We’re all in danger,” Bill corrected. “The air sampler shows three or four distinct components, and chances are they’re all deadly—even Foxfielders, with some immunity, can expect delayed effects.”
“What are the toxins?”
“Who knows? Doc has a catalogue. Call Frances Poyser,” Bill told his wrist.
“On the ship,” Rissa insisted, “the System will analyze his blood in minutes, and devise an antidote within hours.”
Bill shook his head. “Permanent paralysis, by then. Doc? Doc, we got a problem and we’re stuck out here…”
The vehicle groaned and shuddered as Rissa issued futile commands to pull it out. Casimir was muttering, semiconscious.
Frances’s crisp voice passed judgment on the air samples. “No good,” she told Bill. “I’m fairly sure of one, but the others—thousands of possibilities.”
“The One knows,” said Seth. “We must have run over a Splint, and she sent a distress signal.”
“Then ask a Fraction. Keep in touch, and I’ll make the antidote right away.”
Rissa was skeptical. “You expect one of those creatures to tell you what the poison is?”
“Poisons,” Frances corrected. “Any Fraction in the vicinity will know what was emitted.”
“I’ll contact one,” said Seth.
“Very well,” said Rissa, “it’s worth a try. I’ll try to pull us out again, but my legs are growing numb, and I don’t know how much longer I have.” She pulled down her goggle mask and Casimir’s, before opening the vehicle.
Bill looked up from the air sampler. “The stuff is dissipating, whatever it is. Say, Seth—take my credo, and hook up directly with the Medical Center.”
Rissa shook her head wearily. “Credos aren’t transferable, citizen.”
“Come on, Seth,” said Allison, “we’ll use mine.”
They left the vehicle and headed for the crowd of commensals. Allison stumbled in the dim light, and wondered whether she, too, was affected. Seth began signaling, and finally caught the attention of one of them. “Splint distress signal; please tell composition, urgent.”
Allison did not know the chemical signals, but Seth did. “Three-methyl, two-hydroxy quinoxy…” There were four compounds in all, and he read them out for Frances.
“Well,” said the voice from Allison’s wrist, “there’s good news and bad news. Good news is that three of them are common; Bill’s kit has appropriate neutralizers. Bad news is, the quinoxy one’s new to me. I’ll add it to my list as usual, but that won’t help you now, I’m afraid.”
“Then what’ll we do?” Allison whispered. She half expected Frances to say, am I a magician?
“There’s only one thing,” said the doctor. “Ask her what her own neutralizer is—and get her to make it.”
“But what about dosage?”
“I’ll guess-timate. Best I can do.”
Seth nodded, and signaled once more with the commensal. Precious minutes passed.
“Got it,” he said. He told her the formula, and added, “I think she’ll make some more for us.”
“In pods?” asked the doctor.
“That may take a while,” said Seth, “an hour, perhaps, but I can’t be sure.”
“Never can.”
They waited twenty minutes more in the damp field, as a fine drizzle soaked their skin. The sky was dark, now, and the commensals glowed like ghosts as they mingled about the accident site. Allison wondered again just what had happened. The moss was nearly a meter deep in some spots; had it overgrown the road? Or had a seed sprouted right on the road? But the vehicle must have lost its bearings somehow, to have veered off the path like that.
At last the Fraction dropped a pod into Seth’s hand. He and Allison hurried back to the vehicle, which was now fully lit.
They found Casimi
r somewhat more awake, as Rissa adjusted a half-moon-shaped instrument over his chest.
“This should stabilize his condition,” she said.
Casimir’s forehead was damp with perspiration and his eyes stared as he spoke broken phrases, some in English, some unintelligible.
Bill had the rest of the neutralizers prepared, and with a syringe he withdrew some fluid from Seth’s pod. “Quite sterile,” he assured the ship doctor. He picked up Casimir’s arm. “How do you pull back the sleeve of this—”
Rissa knocked his hand aside, and he cried out in pain. “What do you think you’re doing?” Rissa demanded. “I’d lose my registration.”
“Well, don’t break my radius over it, for God’s sake,” said Bill as he nursed his forearm. “That’s a good antidote; what else can we do?”
“You don’t even know the dose.”
“That compound,” said Frances, “will cause a bit of queasiness, at worst. What alternative do you propose?”
“His condition is stabilized,” said Rissa. “My legs are paralyzed, but I’ll call the shuttle and—”
“What,” said Seth, “with all those Fractions out there?”
“Aren’t you young for Senior Self-termination?” Frances inquired.
Meanwhile, Bill had prepared similar injections for the others. Rissa looked on in horror as he administered them to himself, Allison and Seth. Allison smiled and tried to look as healthy as possible, although she felt nausea rising.
“Where…shuttle…” whispered Casimir.
Rissa exchanged foreign words with him.
“A witch doctor?” blared Frances’ voice. “Is that what he called me? Well I never—”
“Now, Doc,” Bill soothed, “you must have misheard; he’s speaking a different language—”
“Young man, I’m not deaf yet, and I heard him in plain English. Listen, Friend Casimir—”
A stream of Japanese translation came from Casimir’s wrist, ringing strangely in Frances’ tones.
Rissa’s face was scandalized; then her expression changed, as if to stone. When Frances stopped talking, an awkward silence fell. Then she faced Bill.
“Citizen,” she said levelly, “the Medical Code authorizes none but a UNI-registered doctor to administer medical therapy to non-Special-Status citizens. Please hand me the syringe.”
Bill did so without a word. She expertly injected Casimir, then took the last one for herself.
Allison reached out of the vehicle and vomited. The others soon followed suit.
XI. A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Half the drill press lay in pieces on the floor. Allison reached deep into the machinery with her wrench and swore softly, while Bill looked on.
“Allison?”
“What?”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got the vocabulary of a ‘sailor’?”
Allison grimaced as she pushed stray hair from her forehead with the back of her left hand. “Now where did you pick up a phrase like that?”
“The Terrans still have sailors on ocean ships. They used to seek continents the way the Plowshare sought Foxfield. But now they’re mostly for sport, like hunting whales and things.”
Her credometer interrupted to announce Casimir Stroem. “Hello, Allison,” he said in his usual exuberant tones.
“It’s good to hear from you,” she replied. “You sound so much better.”
“Yes, we’ve recovered. But you should take Rissa up on her offer, you know.”
“That’s right,” said Bill, “we all ought to get modern checkups.”
“Sometime,” Allison added.
Casimir said quietly, “I’ll never be able to thank you all, you know—”
“We did what we had to.”
“Besides,” Bill pointed out, “our credit levels all doubled afterward.”
Allison said, “It wasn’t all your fault, either. The roads were overgrown; that happens in early summer, and they should be kept up better.”
“The Fractions stay out of your roads?”
“Not always, but they almost never seed there. The paths are odor-marked.”
“But our auto-guide strayed from the road.” Casimir sighed. “Oh well. How is Seth, by the way?”
She grimaced. “Haven’t seen him, lately.”
“Rather upset, I understand.”
“Rather.”
“Where does he go?” Casimir asked. “He doesn’t wear a credo.”
“That, citizen, is the type of question that makes Foxfielders refuse credos.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Seth follows the commensals, mostly,” she told him, “just as some Fractions come to Meeting. He keeps us in touch with the Dwelling.”
“The Dwelling poses even greater hazards for human visitors, doesn’t it?”
“Hard to say. The Dwelling is more powerful than the separate Fractions, but more self-controlled, as well.”
“And more sensitive,” he pointed out.
“More complex entities usually are.”
Casimir paused. “This Dwelling is not really a building structure, is it?” he asked carefully.
“It is, in part. The skeleton or framework is built of ‘coral’—you know, that orange porous stuff, like the paperweight on my desk.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“The Guardian Fractions secrete it, and it hardens. It’s surprisingly sturdy stuff. The composition’s on file in Deltron.”
“I see,” he said. “Might one then say that this, er, structure is in some sense analogous to a temple of worship?”
Allison considered this. “Fractions don’t ‘worship’ there, as far as I know. They do maintain the needs of the central consciousness, and they visit for ‘advice,’ or some such communication.”
“They all go there in the end,” said Bill, “like a permanent conjoining. Why don’t you go visit, like Rashernu said?”
“I’m afraid I must agree with Rissa that considerable further study is warranted, before we undertake another risky expedition. Well, I won’t keep you from your work. See you tomorrow, at the UNI Day Festival.”
“The what? Oh, yes, that,” said Allison.
Casimir chuckled. “Friday anti-eve, seventeen hours east. Don’t forget, now.”
“We won’t,” Bill assured him.
Allison approached the ship garden, which she had visited less than a month before, though it seemed much longer. Several adventuresome young Foxfielders accompanied her, including Bill and Noreen, and her engaged nephew and cousin, all self-consciously dressed up. She felt somewhat out of place among them.
The entrance was open wide and strung with colored lanterns. Two strangers in bizarre costumes greeted them. “Colonists! How marvelous,” the woman exclaimed, as she clasped her hands amid piles of ethereal material. “That’s your word, right—‘marvelous’? I hope you enjoy our Lantern Festival. This year we’ve also added a Westerran midsummer theme, to help you feel at home. So, call me Queen Titania, tonight; and this is Bottom, of course.”
Her companion spoke in a deep voice, muffled by a monstrous head which he wore, a beast which Allison had seen images of but could not place. A horse head?
“Balaam’s Ass, did you say?” Noreen ventured.
“No,” Titania corrected, “Bottom, the Ass. A figure from Shakespearean mythology. Don’t you know your own heritage?”
Allison remarked, “We didn’t know to wear costumes, either.”
“Never mind, you look exotic enough for me. What do you say, Bottom?”
Another muffled reply.
“Oh, yes, quite right.” Titania raised a finger. “Check your credos at the door, everyone.”
For once, Allison found herself reluctant to surrender her omniscient wristband. But the Foxfielders all did so, and stepped inside.
The Garden was darkened, but lanterns hung everywhere and bright shapes flitted through the patchwork of foliage. Some were clearly people, actually present at the
party, but others seemed to be insubstantial, holographic transmissions, perhaps. Sounds and spicy scents mingled bewilderingly.
“Hello, hello, who are you?” A group descended upon them, jostling about in Elizabethan skirts and trains.
“Tell me,” said one, “are you really Lost Colonists or just costumes? Yes? ’Sponential—I am Yoshiko, from Tsung Corp; we supply stratogeysers, you know.”
“Have you heard,” said another, “about our latest line of psychormones? ‘Byronic Fever’ heads the list; it induces the most scandalous moods, just the thing for this season.”
“You’re the technical folks!” said Yoshiko. “How very fortunate, I’ve got just the thing for you. We can direct a SLIT into your ocean to boil off the water—and there you have an inexhaustible supply of rainfall, where and when you want it.”
Allison managed a guarded response. “Wouldn’t the tides destabilize it somehow?”
“We’ll see. No problem is too tough for Tsung Corp.” The supplier vanished.
Bill gasped. “What the—”
“Look here,” called Noreen as she pointed off in another direction. “What’s happening?”
Allison turned and blinked at a pair of man-sized dragons, scaled in red and gold. The beasts emitted high shrieks as they feinted and clawed at one another. Behind each one stood a person with a panel supported like a music stand; the controller moved his or her hands and fingers above the panel as though manipulating a puppet on invisible strings.
One of the controllers stopped and motioned to Noreen. “Here,” she said, “come have a try.”
Noreen went to one stand, and Bill to the other. They placed their hands as instructed.
In an instant, both dragons had fallen on their backs and were writhing about the arena.
The original controllers laughed. “I’ll show you,” said one. “Keep your hand steady,” she told Noreen, “then move one finger, then another…”
Noreen’s dragon rolled over and put out one scaly forepaw, then another.
“Allison.” A voice called, like Casimir’s voice, but she saw him nowhere and there were no credometers.
“Allison. Follow me.”
“Is that you, Casimir?” She did follow it, and stumbled down a narrow path, dodging the partygoers on her way. She was beginning to distinguish the solid ones, now; they glowed a trifle less.
Still Forms On Foxfield Page 15
