“And I,” said Master Han.
“You can be sure the pequeninos feel the same way in reverse,” said Jane. “If not on Lusitania then somewhere, somehow, it will almost certainly come down to a terrible war in which humans use the Molecular Disruption Device and the pequeninos use the descolada as the ultimate biological weapon. There's a good chance of both species utterly destroying each other. So I feel some urgency about the need to find a replacement virus for the descolada, one that will perform all the functions needed in the pequeninos' life cycle without any of its predatory, self-adapting capabilities. A selectively inert form of the virus.”
“I thought there were ways to neutralize the descolada. Don't they take drugs in their drinking water on Lusitania?”
“The descolada keeps figuring out their drugs and adapting to them. It's a series of footraces. Eventually the descolada will win one, and then there won't be any more humans to race against.”
“Do you mean that the virus is intelligent?” asked Wang-mu.
“One of the scientists on Lusitania thinks so,” said Jane. “A woman named Quara. Others disagree. But the virus certainly acts as if it were intelligent, at least when it comes to adapting itself to changes in its environment and changing other species to fit its needs. I think Quara is right, personally. I think the descolada is an intelligent species that has its own kind of language that it uses to spread information very quickly from one side of the world to the other.”
“I'm not a virologist,” said Master Han.
“And yet if you could look at the studies being performed by Elanora Ribeira von Hesse–”
“Of course I'll look. I only wish I had your hope that I can help.”
“And then the third problem,” said Jane. “Perhaps the simplest one of all. The godspoken of Path.”
“Ah yes,” said Master Han. “Your destroyers.”
“Not by any free choice,” said Jane. “I don't hold it against you. But it's something I'd like to see accomplished before I die– to figure out a way to alter your altered genes, so that future generations, at least, can be free of that deliberately-induced OCD, while still keeping the extraordinary intelligence.”
“Where will you find genetic scientists willing to work on something that Congress would surely consider to be treason?” asked Master Han.
“When you wish to have someone commit treason,” said Jane, “it's best to look first among known traitors.”
“Lusitania,” said Wang-mu.
“Yes,” said Jane. “With your help, I can give the problem to Elanora.”
“Isn't she working on the descolada problem?”
“No one can work on anything every waking moment. This will be a change of pace that might actually help freshen her for her work on the descolada. Besides, your problem on Path may be relatively easy to solve. After all, your altered genes were originally created by perfectly ordinary geneticists working for Congress. The only barriers have been political, not scientific. Ela might find it a simple matter. She has already told me how we should begin. We need a few tissue samples, at least to start with. Have a medical technician here do a computer scan on them at the molecular level. I can take over the machinery long enough to make sure the data Elanora needs is gathered during the scan, and then I'll transmit the genetic data to her. It's that simple.”
“Whose tissue do you need?” asked Master Han. “I can't very well ask all the visitors here to give me a sample.”
“Actually, I was hoping you could,” said Jane. “So many are coming and going. We can use dead skin, you know. Perhaps even fecal or urine samples that might contain body cells.”
Master Han nodded. “I can do that.”
“If it comes to fecal samples, I will do it,” said Wang-mu.
“No,” said Master Han. “I am not above doing all that is necessary to help, even with my own hands.”
“You?” asked Wang-mu. “I volunteered because I was afraid you would humiliate other servants by requiring them to do it.”
“I will never again ask anyone to do something so low and debasing that I refuse to do it myself,” said Master Han.
“Then we'll do it together,” said Wang-mu. “Please remember, Master Han– you will help Jane by reading and responding to reports, while manual tasks are the only way that I can help at all. Don't insist on doing what I can do. Instead spend your time on the things that only you can do.”
Jane interrupted before Master Han could answer. “Wang-mu, I want you to read the reports as well.”
“Me? But I'm not educated at all.”
“Nevertheless,” said Jane.
“I won't even understand them.”
“Then I'll help you,” said Master Han.
“This isn't right,” said Wang-mu. “I'm not Qing-jao. This is the sort of thing she could do. It isn't for me.”
“I watched you and Qing-jao through the whole process that led to her discovery of me,” said Jane. “Many of the key insights came from you, Si Wang-mu, not from Qing-jao.”
“From me? I never even tried to–”
“You didn't try. You watched. You made connections in your mind. You asked questions.”
“They were foolish questions,” said Wang-mu. Yet in her heart she was glad: Someone saw!
“Questions that no expert would ever have asked,” said Jane. “Yet they were exactly the questions that led Qing-jao to her most important conceptual breakthroughs. You may not be godspoken, Wang-mu, but you have gifts of your own.”
“I'll read and respond,” said Wang-mu, “but I will also gather tissue samples. All of the tissue samples, so that Master Han does not have to speak to these godspoken visitors and listen to them praise him for a terrible thing that he didn't do.”
Master Han was still opposed. “I refuse to think of you doing–”
Jane interrupted him. “Han Fei-tzu, be wise. Wang-mu, as a servant, is invisible. You, as master of the house, are as subtle as a tiger in a playground. Nothing you do goes unnoticed. Let Wang-mu do what she can do best.”
Wise words, thought Wang-mu. Why then are you asking me to respond to the work of scientists, if each person must do what he does best? Yet she kept silent. Jane had them begin by taking their own tissue samples; then Wang-mu set about gathering tissue samples from the rest of the household. She found most of what she needed on combs and unwashed clothing. Within days she had samples from a dozen godspoken visitors, also taken from their clothing. No one had to take fecal samples after all. But she would have been willing.
Qing-jao noticed her, of course, but snubbed her. It hurt Wang-mu to have Qing-jao treat her so coldly, for they had once been friends and Wang-mu still loved her, or at least loved the young woman that Qing-jao had been before the crisis. Yet there was nothing Wang-mu could say or do to restore their friendship. She had chosen another path.
Wang-mu kept all the tissue samples carefully separated and labeled. Instead of taking them to a medical technician, however, she found a much simpler way. Dressing in some of Qing-jao's old clothing, so that she looked like a godspoken student instead of a servant girl, she went to the nearest college and told them that she was working on a project whose nature she could not divulge, and she humbly requested that they perform a scan on the tissue samples she provided. As she expected, they asked no questions of a godspoken girl, even a complete stranger. Instead they ran the molecular scans, and Wang-mu could only assume that Jane had done as she promised, taking control of the computer and making the scan include all the operations Ela needed.
On the way home from the college, Wang-mu discarded all the samples she had collected and burned the report the college had given her. Jane had what she needed– there was no point in running the risk that Qing-jao or perhaps a servant in the house who was in the pay of Congress might discover that Han Fei-tzu was working on a biological experiment. As for someone recognizing her, the servant Si Wang-mu, as the young godspoken girl who had visited the college– there was no chance of that. No
one looking for a godspoken girl would so much as glance at a servant like her.
* * *
“So you've lost your woman and I've lost mine,” said Miro.
Ender sighed. Every now and then Miro got into a talky mood, and because bitterness was always just under the surface with him, his chat tended to be straight to the point and more than a little unkind. Ender couldn't begrudge him the talkiness– he and Valentine were almost the only people who could listen to Miro's slow speech patiently, without giving him a sign that they wanted him to get on with it. Miro spent so much of his time with pent-up thoughts, unexpressed, that it would be cruel to shut him down just because he had no tact.
Ender wasn't pleased to be reminded of the fact that Novinha had left him. He was trying to keep that thought out of his mind, while he worked on other problems– on the problem of Jane's survival, mostly, and a little bit on every other problem, too. But at Miro's words, that aching, hollow, half-panicked feeling returned. She isn't here. I can't just speak and have her answer. I can't just ask and have her remember. I can't just reach and feel her hand. And, most terrible of all: Perhaps I never will again.
“I suppose so,” said Ender.
“You probably don't like to equate them,” said Miro. “After all, she's your wife of thirty years, and Ouanda was my girlfriend for maybe five years. But that's only if you start counting when puberty hit. She was my friend, my closest friend except maybe Ela, since I was little. So if you think about it, I was with Ouanda most of my life, while you were only with Mother for half of yours.”
“Now I feel much better,” said Ender.
“Don't get pissed off at me,” said Miro.
“Don't piss me off,” said Ender.
Miro laughed. Too loudly. “Feeling grumpy, Andrew?” he cackled. “A bit out of sorts?”
It was too much to take. Ender spun his chair, turning away from the terminal where he had been studying a simplified model of the ansible network, trying to imagine where in that random latticework Jane's soul might dwell. He gazed steadily at Miro until he stopped laughing.
“Did I do this to you?” asked Ender.
Miro looked more angry than abashed. “Maybe I needed you to,” he said. “Ever think of that? You were so respectful, all of you. Let Miro keep his dignity. Let him brood himself into madness, right? Just don't talk about the thing that's happened to him. Didn't you ever think I needed somebody to jolly me out of it sometimes?”
“Didn't you ever think that I don't need that?”
Miro laughed again, but it came a bit late, and it was gentler. “On target,” he said. “You treated me the way you like to be treated when you grieve, and now I'm treating you the way I like to be treated. We prescribe our own medicine for each other.”
“Your mother and I are still married,” Ender said.
“Let me tell you something,” said Miro, “out of the wisdom of my twenty years or so of life. It's easier when you finally start admitting to yourself that you'll never have her back. That she's permanently out of reach.”
“Ouanda is out of reach. Novinha isn't.”
“She's with the Children of the Mind of Christ. It's a nunnery, Andrew.”
“Not so,” said Ender. “It's a monastic order that only married couples can join. She can't belong to them without me.”
“So,” said Miro. “You can have her back whenever you want to join the Filhos. I can just see you as Dom Cristao.”
Ender couldn't help chuckling at the idea. “Sleeping in separate beds. Praying all the time. Never touching each other.”
“If that's marriage, Andrew, then Ouanda and I are married right now.”
“It is marriage, Miro. Because the couples in the Filhos da Mente de Cristo are working together, doing a work together.”
“Then we're married,” said Miro. “You and I. Because we're trying to save Jane together.”
“Just friends,” said Ender. “We're just friends.”
“Rivals is more like it. Jane keeps us both like lovers on a string.”
Miro was sounding too much like Novinha's accusations about Jane. “We're hardly lovers,” he said. “Jane isn't human. She doesn't even have a body.”
“Aren't you the logical one,” said Miro. “Didn't you just say that you and Mother could still be married, without even touching?”
It was an analogy that Ender didn't like, because it seemed to have some truth in it. Was Novinha right to be jealous of Jane, as she had been for so many years?
“She lives inside our heads, practically,” said Miro. “That's a place where no wife will ever go.”
“I always thought,” said Ender, “that your mother was jealous of Jane because she wished she had someone that close to her.”
“Bobagem,” said Miro. “Lixo.” Nonsense. Garbage. “Mother was jealous of Jane because she wanted so badly to be that close to you, and she never could.”
“Not your mother. She was always self-contained. There were times when we were very close, but she always turned back to her work.”
“The way you always turned back to Jane.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not in so many words. But you'd be talking to her, and then all of a sudden you'd fall silent, and even though you're good at subvocalizing, there's still a little movement in the jaw, and your eyes and lips react a little to what Jane says to you. She saw. You'd be with Mother, close, and then all of a sudden you were somewhere else.”
“That's not what split us apart,” said Ender. “It was Quim's death.”
“Quim's death was the last straw. If it hadn't been for Jane, if Mother had really believed you belonged to her, heart and soul, she would have turned to you when Quim died, instead of turning away.”
Miro had said the thing that Ender had dreaded all along. That it was Ender's own fault. That he had not been the perfect husband. That he had driven her away. And the worst thing was that when Miro said it, Ender knew that it was true. The sense of loss, which he had already thought was unbearable, suddenly doubled, trebled, became infinite inside him.
He felt Miro's hand, heavy, clumsy, on his shoulder.
“As God is my witness, Andrew, I never meant to make you cry.”
“It happens,” said Ender.
“It's not all your fault,” said Miro. “Or Jane's. You've got to remember that Mother's crazy as a loon. She always has been.”
“She had a lot of grief as a child.”
“She lost everybody she ever loved, one by one,” said Miro.
“And I let her believe that she had lost me, too.”
“What were you going to do, cut Jane off? You tried that once, remember?”
“The difference is that now she has you. The whole time you were gone, I could have let Jane go, because she had you. I could have talked to her less, asked her to back off. She would have forgiven me.”
“Maybe,” said Miro. “But you didn't.”
“Because I didn't want to,” said Ender. “Because I didn't want to let her go. Because I thought I could keep that old friendship and still be a good husband to my wife.”
“It wasn't just Jane,” said Miro. “It was Valentine, too.”
“I suppose,” said Ender. “So what do I do? Go join up with the Filhos until the fleet gets here and blows us all to hell?”
“You do what I do,” said Miro.
“What's that?”
“You take a breath. You let it out. Then you take another.”
Ender thought about it for a moment. “I can do that. I've been doing that since I was little.”
Just a moment longer, Miro's hand on his shoulder. This is why I should have had a son of my own, thought Ender. To lean on me when he was small, and then for me to lean on when I'm old. But I never had a child from my own seed. I'm like old Marcao, Novinha's first husband. Surrounded by these children and knowing they're not my own. The difference is that Miro is my friend, not my enemy. And that's something. I may have been a bad husba
nd, but I can still make and keep a friend.
“Stop pitying yourself and get back to work.” It was Jane, speaking in his ear, and she had waited almost long enough before speaking, almost long enough that he was ready to have her tease him. Almost but not quite, and so he resented her intrusion. Resented knowing that she had been listening and watching all along.
“Now you're mad,” she said.
You don't know what I'm feeling, thought Ender. You can't know. Because you're not human.
“You think I don't know what you're feeling,” said Jane.
He felt a moment of vertigo, because for a moment it seemed to him that she had been listening to something far deeper than the conversation.
“But I lost you once, too.”
Ender subvocalized: “I came back.”
“Never completely,” said Jane. “Never like it was before. So you just take a couple of those self-pitying little tears on your cheeks and count them as if they were mine. Just to even up the score.”
“I don't know why I bother trying to save your life,” said Ender silently.
“Me neither,” said Jane. “I keep telling you it's a waste of time.”
Ender turned back to the terminal. Miro stayed beside him, watching the display as it simulated the ansible network. Ender had no idea what Jane was saying to Miro– though he was sure that she was saying something, since he had long ago figured out that Jane was capable of carrying on many conversations at once. He couldn't help it– it did bother him a little that Jane had every bit as close a relationship with Miro as with him.
Isn't it possible, he wondered, for one person to love another without trying to own each other? Or is that buried so deep in our genes that we can never get it out? Territoriality. My wife. My friend. My lover. My outrageous and annoying computer personality who's about to be shut off at the behest of a half-crazy girl genius with OCD on a planet I never heard of and how will I live without Jane when she's gone?
Ender zoomed in on the display. In and in and in, until the display showed only a few parsecs in each dimension. Now the simulation was modeling a small portion of the network– the crisscrossing of only a half-dozen philotic rays in deep space. Now, instead of looking like an involved, tightlywoven fabric, the philotic rays looked like random lines passing millions of kilometers from each other.
Xenocide ew-4 Page 36
