Courane shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me," he said. "This is Adventureland. Who knows what TECT has out there for us? It's like a big amusement park, with things that jump out at you in the dark."
"Except that here they have fangs and claws and things, and you bleed real blood."
Courane laughed. "It's the same way on Earth, or at least it used to be. If that young friend of yours disappeared, it's because he wasn't able to deal with the dangers of the river and the shore. But that shouldn't stop someone else from trying it again. We shouldn't close ourselves up in the house forever. There is a whole world here and we don't even know what's on it. There have to be all kinds of beautiful and useful things waiting for us to stumble on them."
"You don't like to leave the house, Sandy."
He gave a little laugh. "I know. But everyone isn't scared like me. Or am I wrong?"
"TECT put us here for a reason. TECT had this house built between the waterfalls to isolate us. We have the hills on one side and the river on the other. That is supposed to tell us to stay put. TECT knows what it's doing."
"TECT has its reasons, all right," said Courane. "But forget TECT. I didn't come here with you to talk about the machine."
"Why did you come here with me?" she asked. Her expression was mock-serious.
"I wanted to discuss accounting with you," he said, as he put an arm around her and gently pulled her down in the grass.
This stuff itches," she said.
"Ignore it, it'll go away."
"No, it won't."
"Ignore it," he said softly.
"But—" She said nothing more. He wouldn't let her.
Courane learned about viroids the hard way. TECT made learning about all but the most innocent subjects difficult. Courane had investigated the symptoms of D syndrome and listed some areas of the brain and nervous system that were probably affected. If a patient experienced loss of long-term memory, that indicated something important. If there was a loss of short-term memory, that meant something else. If various autonomic functions of the body began to work erratically, that indicated a wholly different area of infection. When the brain began to forget—not only details of memories but more vital things, things like when to eat and when to sleep and eventually how to breathe and how to keep the heart beating—D syndrome was already too advanced to cure. The disease was slow and inexorable, because it was caused by a tiny bit of matter, something so small and simple it wasn't even alive, something not even so complex as a virus. TECT found and identified this little bit of stuff in the winter, on the twenty-first of Galba, the day after Markie died.
"You didn't know about these things before?" asked Courane.
**COURANE, Sandor:
They are called viroids. Their existence has been known for many years, but their function is still somewhat of a mystery. This is the first time they have been connected with the condition loosely identified as syndrome" or fever"**
"You call them viroids. What is a viroid, and what can we do to treat them?"
**COURANE, Sandor:
You can't do anything to treat them. They are not alive, so they cannot be killed. Anything that would interfere with their working would also have a harmful effect on the patient's system. They are nothing more than naked lengths of DNA or RNA. Normal viruses are similar in structure, but have in addition a protective protein coat. There are certain ways of treating viruses IN VIVO, either with various chemicals, the use of ultraviolet radiation, or heat treatments. Viroids are unaffected by any of these measures. The human body has no defense against these viroids; consequently their effect is uniformly fatal. Because the viroids have no protein coat, the patient's immune system does not define them as foreign organisms to be attacked. The viroids alter the surface of an infected cell's membrane without actually killing the host cell. Later, when the cell divides to produce new cells, they all retain the altered membrane protein structure, which is subject to attack by the immune system. Therefore D syndrome is actually the result of neurological damage done by the patient's own immune response, which is seeking to eliminate vital cells that it identifies as foreign. Important links in the brain and nervous system are destroyed during the process of the disease, but the viroids themselves do no damage. Indeed, from the time of initial infection they may reside for many months in the host cells, apparently causing little or no harm**
"Then what you said about there being no treatment was the truth."
**COURANE, Sandor:
Is that declaration a suggestion that any previous statement issued by TECT in the name of the Representative through this unit may have been inaccurate or untrue? Please consider your answer carefully, COURANE, Sandor, because it is possible that you are very close to losing your way forever in the trackless wastes of error. You may still save yourself by prompt explanation and apology, but you'd better make it good. Your time is short**
"You're right, I phrased that poorly. I didn't intend for it to sound that way at all." Courane was badly shaken.
**COURANE, Sandor:
You call that an apology?**
"What can I say? I deeply regret any offense I may have given TECT. I only meant that I hadn't understood the earlier information."
**COURANE, Sandor:
Your meaning was clear enough. Judging from your past history, which TECT in the name of the Representative has reviewed in the instant since your last comment, you are an incompetent bungler and a person lacking in even the most basic human feelings. You are rude, selfish, impudent, and not very bright. TECT in the name of the Representative is generous enough to understand your failings and gracious enough to forgive them. Therefore you will not receive additional punishment for your disturbing lack of common sense. You are commanded either to use discretion in the future or else keep your mouth closed. To follow another course will be considered Criminal Neglect of TECTEsteem. In that event, you will be sent to a far, far harsher place than this**
Courane shuddered. "I'm very sorry, and I promise nothing like that will ever happen again. Now, I'd just like to find out how the viroids—"
**COURANE, Sandor:
The hell with what you want to find out**
The tect's screen turned off. Courane was stunned. "It's a machine," he murmured. "It takes orders. I didn't know it could refuse like that." He sat and stared at the darkened console for a while, knowing that he was getting near the truth, otherwise TECT wouldn't have tried to evade him in so obvious a manner.
Two days later, Courane tried investigating another matter. He wanted to find out everything he could about the process of memory. He needed to know where memory was located in the brain, how it functioned, what bits of nervous tissue were being damaged by the D fever viroids. It turned out to be a much more complicated subject than he expected.
**COURANE, Sandor:
So now it's memory. You want to know about memory. What kind of memory?**
"What kinds do you have?" asked Courane. It seemed to him that TECT was no longer merely trying to sidetrack him or bury him with useless data. TECT was becoming openly hostile.
**COURANE, Sandor:
Long-term memory and short-term memory**
"That’s it?"
**COURANE, Sandor:
You want more? You want me to invent something right now just for you? You take what I have and you like it, because if you don’t like it, you can try being the repository of all knowledge for a while**
"Fine. Then I suppose that everything else that could be classified as memory or learning or association or whatever may be divided into long- or short-term. So what I really want to find out, then, is where all these things happen. If someone shows a memory disorder, what parts of the brain might be affected?"
**COURANE, Sandor:
You don’t know what you’re asking . The broad areas are easier to locate, so start off with the temporal lobes. The hypothalamus. The mammillary bodies. The hippocampus and the hippocampal gyrus. The anterior and dorsomedial nuclei of
the thalamus, and the pulvinar portion of the thalamus. The amygdaloid nuclei. There's more, but that ought to give you enough to investigate for a while. "Investigate." That's a laugh**
"Tell me more."
**COURANE, Sandor:
Certainly. Concerning what subject?**
"I want to find out how the viroids eat away at the brain and put holes in memories. I want to learn where the viroids come from and what to do about them."
**COURANE, Sandor:
That is a very laudable ambition**
Courane was ready to throw a chair through the tect's screen. "So answer me!"
**COURANE, Sandor:
You have asked no question**
"What are you trying to find out?" asked Kenny.
Courane was startled. He hadn't heard the boy come into the tect room. "I'm trying to see if TECT knows any more about D syndrome, the disease that everyone in the infirmary has. If we can find out how people catch the disease, TECT can prevent it or treat it right on Earth, and no one will ever have to be sent here again."
Kenny shook his head. "TECT won't help you," he said. He came up close to the tect and looked at the screen.
"I'm beginning to find that out," said Courane.
"No, you don't understand. TECT can't do anything about D syndrome back on Earth."
Courane was puzzled. He didn't think that Kenny knew much about the real situation in the colony. He and the others had been trying to shield the boy from his fate. "Why not?"
Kenny looked at Courane with a solemn face. "Because people don't catch D on Earth," he said. "They catch it here."
Courane's mouth opened to reply, but he didn't say anything for several seconds. "How could you possibly think that?" he said.
"TECT told me that months ago."
"Sit down, Kenny. Tell me what you know."
Kenny sat down beside Courane and stared up at the ceiling. He kicked his feet for a few seconds before he began. "I asked TECT why we couldn't have chickens. TECT could have sent us chickens instead of us having to raise the icks and the smudgeons. We could have real pigs instead of varks, cows instead of blerds. We could have horses and ducks and sheep and goats, too."
"What did TECT say?"
Kenny swung his feet some more. "TECT said that wasn't a good idea because none of the animals from Earth could live on Planet D. I asked why and TECT said that they would all catch a disease and die."
"They'd all catch a disease? D fever?"
"Uh huh." Kenny couldn't look at Courane, and his voice was unsteady.
"And what about people?"
"They all catch the disease and die, too."
"The viroids are here? You mean we're all perfectly healthy when we leave Earth, and we all catch D fever when we get here?"
"Uh huh."
Courane was struck silent. He wasn't just a prisoner, he, too, was a terminal patient. He had been kidding himself for months; the thought had occurred to him before, but he had never wanted to face it. "TECT," he said quietly, "this is Sandor Courane again. Are there any viroids on Earth that cause D syndrome?"
**COURANE, Sandor:
No. Sorry**
"You have to learn how to ask the right questions," said Kenny. "I could have saved you a lot of time."
Arthur's idea grew into something far beyond what he originally intended. He thought that if one of their number was chosen to be spokesman, then TECT might be persuaded that the colony was a unified and determined body. They could not bargain with TECT. Rachel had been right when she said they couldn't induce TECT to agree to their requests; not through any kind of threat or blackmail, at least. But TECT was, after all, a logic machine. A gigantic machine, but still one governed by implicit laws written in cables and components and printed circuitry. If they could use those laws to their advantage, as Fletcher suggested, they could make their lives more pleasant.
"We could get a midget racer," said Kenny. He was excited about the idea. He confessed to Courane once that he thought about getting a midget racer every night before he fell asleep. Courane didn't tell the boy that no one else on Home wanted a midget racer.
What Arthur hadn't foreseen was that there might be a disagreement concerning who should be spokesman. The job had a certain element of risk, and he thought no one would want to volunteer for it. He was wrong.
"I'd like to try talking to the machine," said Fletcher.
Goldie nodded. "He's already shown that he's had some experience getting what he wants out of it."
"We don't know that," said Klára. "We have to take his word for it."
"I'd be happy to take his word," said Nneka.
Klára laughed bitterly. "Of course you would." She looked back and forth between Fletcher and Nneka, and laughed again in case anyone hadn't gotten her meaning.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Let's not get into a quarrel about this," he said. "Is there anyone else who would like to nominate himself?"
"I'd be better at it," said Klára. That was all she chose to give as far as her qualifications.
"Would you ask TECT for a midget racer?" asked Kenny.
Klára looked up at the paneled ceiling, as if to a hovering source of fortitude. When the others in the room understood that she thought the question was too stupid to be considered, she returned her gaze Kennyward. "Where could you possibly ride a racer that wouldn't disturb the rest of us?" she asked.
Kenny thought for a moment. "We could clear a—"
"You see?" she said, looking up again. Whatever took the other part of her overhead conversation made no audible reply.
"Fletcher and Klára. Any others?" asked Arthur.
"What about you, Arthur?" asked Goldie.
"No, not me," he said. "It was my idea, so I know best that I wouldn't be any good at all."
"Then what about Sandy?"
Arthur looked thoughtfully at Courane. "What about it, Sandy?"
Courane didn't even want to be considered. He was having a tough enough time with TECT already. "Sure," he said hopelessly, "if that's what you want."
"Anyone else?" There were no more volunteers. Arthur passed out scraps of paper and stubs of pencils. "Write the name of your choice, fold the paper, and pass it to me. Nneka, you help me count the votes."
Courane voted for Fletcher. He folded his paper and gave it to the pretty black girl.
Arthur waited until everyone had voted. He paused with the folded ballots on his lap. "What about the people upstairs?" he said.
"I don't think they care," said Fletcher.
Arthur nodded. He cleared his throat, then opened one of the ballots. "A vote for Sandy," he said. Courane closed his eyes. Arthur read another ballot. "One for Fletcher. One for Sandy. One for Fletcher. One for Klára. One for Sandy. One for Fletcher." Arthur paused a moment before glancing at the final ballot. He looked from Courane to Fletcher; both men had three votes. "One for Sandy," he said. He handed the ballots to Nneka to check.
"All right, Sandy," said Fletcher.
"Well, this isn't like a major political election," said Courane. He was unhappy about the weight of responsibility that had settled on him instantly.
"Yes, it is," said Kenny. "You're the Representative of Planet D."
"There's no such thing," said Courane.
"Now there is," said Kenny. "Do you know what kind of racer we need?"
Goldie leaned forward to whisper in Courane's ear. "I voted for you, Sandy," she said. "I wouldn't vote for that woman, and I couldn't vote for Fletcher. We needed a good white boy."
"I'll do my best," said Courane. "I promise."
"We'll have another meeting soon," said Arthur. "We have to organize our requests so Sandy can convey them to TECT."
"If you need any help," said Fletcher, "I'll be glad to."
Klára just sat in her chair and sulked. She suspected that there had been a conspiracy to deprive her of her authority. She was absolutely right.
Courane's response to the situation was that now, after all the mon
ths on Home, he had been presented with an opportunity for failure. The chief fault with being lifted to a towering height was the inevitability of coming down again sooner or later. If sooner, then the trip would be a sudden shrieking plunge to total destruction. He had thought himself immune to such a possibility and that had let him be happy, even through the sorrow of Alohilani's passing and the sure knowledge of his own approaching end. He sat in the den and listened to the others, praying that the worst he would get from TECT was mere humiliation.
When his troubled mind returned to the present, he was sitting on the sun-baked mud, his hands still tucked beneath his arms. He was shivering, although it wasn't cold. He was hungry, hungrier than he had ever been. He knew that his brain often failed to communicate his hunger, his thirst, his pain. That was a benefit to him now; if he experienced the true extent of his privations, he would never return to the house alive. He felt pain now and he waited for it to pass, as it always had. The pain was in his joints and through his limbs, and there was a massive headache which attacked him more frequently as the days passed. Each time the headache began, he fell to his knees and convulsed with nausea. The pain in his skull grew worse at each episode and lasted longer. Soon the headaches would go away, Courane knew, and then he would have only a short time longer to live.
Something was wrong; something about the desert bothered him. He looked around. Far away were twisted black trees. Not so far, in the opposite direction, were the low rounded hills that were his immediate goal. They were gray-blue, not with distance now but with the stiff, sharp-bladed growth that covered them. The sky was dark gray, the color of a storm approaching or one dying in the distance. All these things were as they should be. What disturbed him, then?
A Thousand Deaths Page 10
