Analog Science Fiction and Fact 12/01/10

by Dell Magazines

  “Because we’re not lying,” David said. “They are. And they don’t want us to tell anyone.”

  “No.” The crests at the rear of her head quivered in negation. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me there’s no Hubpoint. Tell me there’s some other reason you’re here. It has to be a lie!”

  David frowned. “Why?”

  Relniv stared at him. “The system exists for a purpose. I have my own role to play, my duties to fulfill, and there’s a reason for it all. There has to be. If there isn’t ... if there’s a closer Hubpoint and we don’t have to migrate after all ... then all the sacrifices I’ve made ...” She looked away. “All the sacrifices I’ve ... enforced ... will have been for nothing. For a lie. My whole life ... it will have been meaningless.”

  David stepped closer and did that sincere thing with his face. “It doesn’t have to be,” he told Relniv. “You can give your life a new meaning. A better meaning. Help us help your people.”

  Relniv’s weapon hand wavered and lowered. Nashira’s first impulse was to knock it out of her hand, punch her lights out, and step over her trembling body to get to the quantelopes. Somehow, though, she found herself waiting, giving David’s way a chance to work.

  “But what would happen?” Relniv asked. “It would be chaos. We’ve already shipped out so many of us, so much of what we have. If that movement stopped ... it would be so hard to reverse it, to get things back.”

  “That’s what Mr. Gamrios said,” David replied. “But it seems to me, there’s a Hubpoint here and there’s a Hubpoint out there.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re far apart the normal way, but you’re right next door the Hub way. So you don’t have to stop or reverse anything. Just keep going forward, then bring it right back around through the back door.

  “Or some of you could stay out there and others could stay here. You’d be only moments apart through the Hub. Okay, hours. Maybe days, if it’s really busy. But that’s better than months. There’d be no need to fight over where to live. You’d still be one society.”

  Relniv still hesitated. “But the great machine ... it has so much inertia. There are so many who won’t want things to change ... or who won’t know how. They’ll resist—by force if necessary.”

  “Not to worry!” It was Rynyan, who’d arrived behind them, smelling of what Nashira hoped was just his species’ version of sweat. “The Sosyryn would be glad to exert our diplomatic clout toward ensuring a smooth transition. If all your bureaucrats are as fond of bribery as Mister Gamrios, it should be easy enough. And I personally will be happy to see to the needs of any Ziovris who fall victim to whatever social upheavals may result in the meantime.” His mane trembled with his excitement. “That will more than make up for my last visit here,” he told Nashira. “I knew the Universe would make amends for that little embarrassment in time.”

  Relniv had mercifully ignored that last part, squeezing her eyes shut as she wrestled with her conscience. Finally she met David’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this. All my life, I’ve known my purpose, had my place prepared for me. If I do this, I have no idea what will lie ahead.”

  David smiled. “I know that feeling. I’ve felt it every day since I left home for the Hub.”

  “And ... how do you endure it?”

  “Endure it? I love it! Where’s the fun in a story where you always know what happens next?”

  Relniv looked confused, but there was something contagious about David’s enthusiasm. “This will violate so many regulations ... they’ll send me to an asteroid mine for the rest of my life.”

  “You can come with us. There’s a whole universe out there.”

  She looked tempted, but finally said, “No. This is my home. I’ll take my chances. And maybe ... maybe those regulations won’t apply anymore.” She looked shocked at even being able to formulate the concept—but excited that she had.

  David clasped her hand and they went into the quantelope shack together. Nashira couldn’t resist glancing back at Rynyan, though. “The way you talked about it, I thought you and that lady guard would be at it a lot longer.”

  Rynyan puffed out his chest and his mane. “My dear, when you’re as skilled in the arts of sex as I am, you don’t need long at all.”

  Soon after Nashira notified the Hub of her discovery—and her distress—a flotilla of ships belonging to the Mkubnir, one of the species that cooperated in overseeing Hub Network security, emerged through the new Hubpoint, revealing its existence for all to see. The escapees were soon intercepted by Gamrios’ forces, but the bloated bureaucrat had already been warned by the Mkubnir that no harm must come to the Hub scout or her passengers. Nashira enjoyed watching him squirm as he offered to escort them back to the Starship Entropy.

  The only thing better was the look on Mokak Vekredi’s face when she stormed into his office back at the Hubstation. The hermaphrodite was nursing “his” babies when she charged in, and he squawked and ducked behind the desk—whether to hide the evidence of Verzhik prolificacy or merely to hide from her wrath was unclear. “Scout Wing! You should not be in here without invitation!”

  “Stow it, Kred. Be glad your babies are here, since they’re the only thing keeping me from ripping your little buckteeth out. I took a look at the dive logs when I got back, did some digging to find out how a dormant vector got on my dive schedule, and guess whose authorization code I found on the system access.”

  Kred trembled in fear, peeping almost as pathetically as the babies. “I was only following orders, Scout Wing!”

  She waved it aside. “Of course you were. That’s all you know how to do.” She strode forward to stand before his desk, gazing intimidatingly down at his hunkered form. “It doesn’t bother me so much that you tried to kill me—again. That’s more or less in your job description. But going after civilians is another matter.

  “So you tell your Dosper bosses: I’m willing to keep quiet about their attempt on our lives. Everybody’s so thrilled about the new Ziovris Hubpoint—no sense ruining that with a scandal. But only if they leave David and me alone.” She paused. “And Rynyan, I guess. Anything happens to us, those access records gets released. Got it?”

  “I–I will convey that information.”

  “Good.” She flopped back into a chair and put her feet up on his desk. “Now, there’s the little matter of my finder’s fee to talk about.” It sent an almost sexual thrill through Nashira to say it. The reporters were already calling this the find of the century, or whatever units they used. Between that and her blackmail power, she could make enough from this to leave the Hub scout life behind forever and never have to put up with David LaMacchia and Rynyan again.

  But David will be lost without you, she told herself.

  Shut up. I’ll hire him a babysitter.

  But Kred was straightening up and gaining more confidence than he should have at this point in the conversation. In fact, he even seemed to be doing the Verzhik equivalent of smiling. “What ... fee ... would that be, Ms. Wing?”

  “No games, Kred!”

  “Ah, for the record, Ms. Wing.”

  She leaned forward and spoke slowly and loudly. “My bonus for discovering the new Ziovris Hubpoint.”

  Kred continued to smile. “As I understand it, that Hubpoint was actually discovered by a Ziovris scout some seventeen years ago.”

  “Who forfeited his rights by failing to report it. I reported it, so I get the reward!”

  “Ah, I see. Here is the crux of your misunderstanding: To receive a Hubpoint discovery bonus from the Hub administration, one must be acting in the capacity of a Hub scout.”

  Nashira stared in disbelief. “Hello? Who’ve you been calling ‘Scout Wing’ all this time?”

  “A temporary error, Ms. Wing, arising from my distress. You see, when you failed to report after your initial dive yesterday, I naturally followed proper procedure and had you declared dead.”

  She gaped. “What? I’m dead? ”

  “At the moment, yes.” He tilted h
is head. “Technically, I shouldn’t even be speaking to you. It could constitute either evidence of mental illness or an inappropriate on-duty religious observance.”

  “Kred!”

  “And since you were therefore not a Hub employee—or even legally a person—at the time the new Ziovris Hubpoint was reported, it has been classed as a Ziovris discovery that went unreported due to negligence and fell into default. Thus, the Dosperhag have claimed it as a windfall. All profits from its discovery go to the Hub administration. Which, naturally, will set aside a generous reserve thereof for investment in the restoration of the Ziovris economy. After all, we are all neighbors in the Network.”

  Nashira shot to her feet. “So I get nothing? Not even credit for finding it?” To her surprise, she felt angrier on David’s behalf than hers. Having humans make this discovery wouldn’t have counted for as much as he thought—any moron in a Hubdiver could’ve done the same—but it would’ve been good publicity, at least.

  “You get to live, Ms. Wing, and to be left alone by the Dosperhag. Count yourself fortunate.”

  “And what if I threaten to expose what I know if I don’t get what’s owed me?”

  Kred leaned forward, carefully sheltering his nursing young in his arms. “Understand, Ms. Wing. The Dosperhag have the resources of the entire Hub Network at their disposal. Any evidence you have, they can counter or eradicate. I believe they can be persuaded to leave you and your ... colleagues alone in exchange for avoiding a public scandal, but if you create such a scandal, they will punish you, and you will end up wishing you had not returned from that dive.”

  Nashira was sobered. They had her totally beaten, coming and going. She would kill David for convincing her to leave Renziov, if she didn’t feel so bad for him right now. Though she was sure he’d get over it quickly and find hope in his next lunatic scheme. And Rynyan, as usual, had come out ahead on the whole deal. So as usual, Nashira Wing was the only one who got screwed—and not in the fun way.

  Kred looked at her with feigned sympathy. “I understand this is difficult for you, Ms. Wing. If it would help, you could always apply for the Hub scout position left vacant by your tragic death ...”

  (EDITOR’S NOTE: The Hub appeared earlier in “The Hub of the Matter” [March 2010].)

  Copyright © 2010 Christopher L. Bennett

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  Novelettes

  Primum Non Nocere

  What does a “system” do to the people who run it?

  H.G. Stratmann

  The tall trim man in the cream-colored coat stood looking down at me with a sinister smile. His bristly graying hair and piercing eyes enhanced an air of professional superiority and power. He toyed with the knot of his tie as if eager to start his work. Sardonic lips curled around ivory teeth as he spoke to me.

  “We have ways of making you well.”

  A whiff of wintergreen mouthwash wafted toward me on his breath. The sickly scent of musk cologne grew stronger as he leaned over me with an expression of oily confidence—examining my face and flesh with scientific interest as I lay cowering on the bed. His pupils dilated, as if he could see completely through the coarse, flimsy gown I wore that barely covered my nakedness.

  Behind him, lurking in a corner of the shadowy room, two men waited to carry out his orders. They’d already prepared me for his ministrations—stripping me of my clothes, attaching devices to monitor the inner workings of my body, and inserting sharp needles into my veins. Their starched alabaster uniforms made them blend into the room’s dingy pale walls with chameleonlike concealment. But one word from this man who held the power of life and death over me would bring that well-trained pair back to my side.

  My captor extracted a heavy metal cylinder from a pocket in his lab coat. He twisted the end of the silvery instrument and turned a clicking wheel to adjust the device’s dazzling beam for proper focus. Satisfied it’d be ready when needed, he returned the cylinder to his pocket and pried a tablet computer from its dock at the foot of my bed.

  His manicured fingertip touched the computer’s screen with delicate precision, studying the intimate information it contained about me. Though he’d shielded the screen from me, I imagined my record beginning with the data printed on the plastic bracelet encircling my left wrist.

  Name: Thompson, Esther A. Gender: F. DOB:9/15/2030. Age:28. IDN:398457820.

  But while he learned every documented detail of my life and misdeeds, the only information about himself he’d imparted was his name—sewn in blood-red cursive above his coat’s left upper pocket.

  Hans G. Schuller.

  Then the interrogation began. Schuller’s cold visage shifted from the computer’s screen to me. I pictured him squinting down on a monocle and speaking with a Prussian accent. “Your file contains disturbing information, Ms. Thompson. We have a great deal of work to do on you. It will go much easier if you cooperate.”

  I shivered and shrank back in the bed.

  A wolfish grin creased Schuller’s face as he glanced at his computer. “The toxicology screen we performed on you shows numerous abnormal values. Your LDL cholesterol is well above the prescribed upper limit of 100 mg/dl. Blood levels of apolipoprotein B, hemoglobin A1c, and triglycerides are equally dangerous.

  “Even if you hadn’t been caught in possession of illegal substances, your addiction was obvious. The clothes you were wearing when you were arrested were several sizes too small. Even a layperson could see your BMI was above the legal limit of 29.9.”

  The two nurses standing behind him frowned as Hans Schuller, M.D., pronounced his diagnosis. “Ms. Thompson, you are guilty of Class I Obesity. Before I’m finished with you I’ll know how and why you committed your crimes.”

  The physician placed the computer back into its dock. “Fortunately, your condition can be reversed. We’ll treat you using a standard protocol to purge the toxins you’ve ingested from your system. You’ll be injected with atherophilic nanobots to remove the fatty streaks and minor plaquing our diagnostic probes found in your coronary arteries and aorta. Carrier bots will transport activated stem cells obtained from your blood and bone marrow to your heart and other organs to repair the early damage we detected in them. Within a few days your circulatory system and viscera will be healthy again.”

  He studied the fatty folds quivering on the bottoms of my upper arms. “Dealing with the hyperadiposity and cosmetic components of your medical problems will take longer. Lipophagic nanobots will selectively eliminate the largest collections of adipose tissue. Then weight-adjusted doses of medications will make your body catabolize remaining excess fat stores. Our goal is to reduce your body mass index to a normal range of 18.5 to 24.9. You’ll also be placed on a regimen of diet and exercise to improve your overall conditioning and help you maintain your ideal body weight in the future.”

  I looked at him innocently. “That all sounds very technical, doctor. But I know you’re trying to help me.”

  “Naturally!”

  The physician gave the two burly male nurses behind him jargon-filled orders beyond the understanding of anyone who wasn’t a medical professional. As the pair left to carry out his instructions for my treatment, Schuller’s gaze bored into my pudgy face.

  “Everything I’ve described so far is designed to treat your symptoms and not your underlying problem, Ms. Thompson. And we both know what that is, don’t we?”

  I lowered my eyes. “Yes ...”

  The doctor sighed. “It’s bad enough that what you did is antisocial and illegal. But the worst thing is the damage it’s done to your health. For the sake of tasting the ‘forbidden calories’ you’ve put your life at risk. You’ll need intensive behavior modification treatment to prevent you from harming yourself again.”

  I tried looking penitent. There was no concealing my guilt as Dr. Schuller performed a physical exam. I winced when he extracted the silver ophthalmoscope from his pocket again and shone its blinding light in m
y eyes. Thick layers of fat lining my chest and abdomen were exposed to his scrutiny as he brushed a frigid stethoscope head across them. My overstuffed thighs and buttocks lay bare to his sight and touch.

  The doctor retrieved his tablet computer, then pressed the tip of his right index finger against the thick disc a centimeter wide implanted just above my left breast. His fingertip massaged the skin over my pill-sized MNM as he watched information appear on the computer’s screen.

  Schuller stopped palpating me. “Now I know how you became fat, Ms. Thompson. Your Metabolic NanoMonitor maintains a continuous record of your body chemistry and overall health. I just made it turn ‘informer’ on you.”

  He flexed his right index finger. “There’s a programmer the size of a grain of rice implanted in my fingertip. That device communicated with your MNM using a coded ultra-short range radio signal. I had it command your MNM to download all the data it has accumulated on you over the past year.”

  The doctor showed me graphs and tables of information on the computer’s screen. “Here’s what your MNM recorded about your physiological status over that time, its analysis of the types and amounts of foods you ate, and your daily activity level. Now I have all the results I need to deal with you. It would be in your best interest to give me the details of what brought you to this sorry state.”

  I brushed blond bangs from my perspiring forehead. “You must’ve heard this kind of story before, doctor. A friend invited me and several other people to a party about a year ago. After we’d been munching on fresh fruit and soy snacks for a while, our hostess brought out a small white cardboard box. It was filled with doughnuts dusted with powdered sugar.”

  The doctor nodded. “Simple doughnuts like that are still legal. Anyone at least twenty-one years old can buy them in a grocery store that has a confection license. Eaten in moderation, with proper attention to one’s daily nutritional and calorie limits, they’re really not harmful. But after trying one, some people get hooked on them.”