“It likes to count,” ’jum guessed.
Sarai nodded slowly. “Somebody is trying to tell us something.”
“Where did those micros come from?” demanded Rod.
She smiled sweetly. “I grew them in culture, of course.”
“But what creature—”
“I don’t believe it.” At Rod’s shoulder, Quark interrupted, in a decidedly nasty tone. “I don’t believe one bit of it.”
Sarai gave his shoulder an indignant look. Alarmed, Rod tried to look around into Quark’s eyespeaker. “Peace, Citizen. I’m sure that Sarai—”
“I don’t believe you can culture much of anything out here,” Quark went on. “Why, look at all those Elysian reagents you begged from Khral last time.”
“Of all the nerve.” Sarai swung her enzyme secretors out of the way. “So that’s the thanks I get. You won’t find my door again.”
“I’ll bet you a hundred credits nothing’s growing in there.”
At that Sarai smiled. “Ah, I see your game now.” She thought for a moment. With a shrug, she plucked one of the culture pods and tossed it to Rod. Rod caught it and held it gingerly in his palm. “Check it out; they’ll last long enough to give you a signal. Don’t ask me for the formula.”
By the time they got back to Station, Khral had her lab set for the specimen. “Micros making prime numbers—just what we’re looking for.” Out of the apparatus, a nanoplastic arm embraced the pod, snaking tubes into it.
Rod caught Gaea before she climbed up onto the equipment. “Did Sarai’s microzoöids come from singing-trees?”
“She didn’t say,” said Quark. “She said they wouldn’t last long—so let’s get the photosensors in.”
Station’s voice responded. “Photosensors have already penetrated the pod. I’m getting some readings…”
“Rush the chemical analysis,” said Khral, “in case some ingredients decay fast.” She looked at Rod. “The culture conditions might tell us what organism was their host—and sent their message.”
Rod gave the pod a wary glance. Was this the Prokaryan equivalent of a snake-egg reporter?
“All right,” said Station, “watch the holostage. Pulses visualizing now, time lapse factor one thousand.”
The space above the holostage went dark, and the room lighting dimmed. A green dot appeared, blinking several times until Rod lost count. Then another dot, more orange, and another. The colors seemed to range from green through violet.
“Those are the microzoöids,” said Khral. “But so few are left…”
There was something peculiar about those patterns of light pulses. Rod felt a sense of dread at the unknown. He held Gaea tight, as if he could protect her.
At his side ’jum watched intently. “Twenty-nine…seven…sixty-seven.”
“Some of the pulse numbers are prime,” Station agreed. “We’ll have to do the statistics.”
Khral jumped twice with excitement.
“Chemical analysis complete,” said Station. “A highly complex growth medium, with a large number of xenobiotic components.”
Khral frowned ferociously. “We must duplicate it somehow, or the remaining micros will die.”
“Sarai ought to publish,” added Quark indignantly. “Publish her methods, like everyone else.”
“The medium must be based on their host organism,” said Khral. “Station—can you do a cross-check with the composition of all known Prokaryon organisms?”
Station paused. “It’s done,” she replied. “The composition is mixed, I’m afraid. Its pseudoproteins and other components are largely phycoid, although zoöid components occur, too. Sarai must have used several sources for her broth.”
“Or living-tissue culture,” said Khral. “I’ll bet anything she actually grows the micros in live host tissues.”
Phycoid and zoöid, thought Rod. He said, “Aren’t tumblerounds considered both plantlike and animal?”
At that Khral looked up with a distant expression. “Yes…Did you check, Station?”
“My database has little on tumblerounds.”
Quark explained, “Hardly anyone has studied tumblerounds. They don’t fit the neat categories; and besides, their ‘glue’ messes up nanoplast.”
“It’s worth a try,” Station admitted. “Khral, if you and Quark can get a tissue sample up here, we might just set up cultures before these microzoöids give out.”
That evening Rod called the Spirit Colony with his good news about Gaea. Mother Artemis was thrilled to see the toddler running across the holostage.
“Shall I keep her with me up here at Station?” Rod asked. “It will mean one less for you and Geode to handle.”
“As you wish,” said Mother Artemis. “But we really want you all home as soon as possible. Haemum found a new medical service on the network, serving remote colonies all over Prokaryon.”
Haemum stood beside her, looking more grown-up than ever. Her dark eyes were wide with excitement. “I’m learning to be a doctor, Brother Rod. I place my hands into those of the doctor on the holostage. I helped diagnose Chae’s rash, and I held the otoscope in T’kun’s ear.”
“Why, that’s wonderful.” A bit much responsibility for their oldest daughter.
“Brother Rod, I think the network doctors should evaluate you, and ’jum, too.”
He collected himself. Lifeshaping was more than an earache. “That’s all right, Haemum; Station just gave us our checkups. ’jum needs to stay another year.”
“But you can get a second opinion.”
A second opinion? He exchanged a look with Mother Artemis. They had never sought any opinion outside of Station.
“There’s no harm in trying,” said Mother Artemis, “if Station consents.”
Station allowed them the use of her facilities, observing only that the doctor on the holostage came from her own factory, a rather junior colleague. Haemum came up to help.
On the holostage, the “doctor” appeared as a disembodied pair of white gloves that pointed directions while its “voice” activated the body scanner. Haemum put her hands into the white gloves to show ’jum how to stand before the scanner. Then she set the conduits for nanoservos to enter her neck. Millions of the microscopic machines would swarm through ’jum’s veins, reaching every pore of her body, testing immune response, liver function, and countless other things. ’jum bore the tests with sullen fortitude, as she did any activity that removed her from her precious numbers.
“The child is finished,” the doctor announced at last. “The Valan-born adult, next.”
So it was Rod’s turn for the scanner, the nanoservos racing through his tissues. He tensed despite himself, then was surprised to feel nothing.
Haemum said, “The nanoservos are nonantigenic; that is, their materials are designed to trigger no immune response at all. So your body doesn’t even know they’re there. Isn’t that something?”
“It’s something, all right. And you’ve done well, Sister.”
Her face darkened at the title. Rod realized that her eyes were nearly level with his; she had reached adult height. Her curls twined in sophisticated patterns, a style never seen at the colony. Rod remembered what that age felt like, not so long ago, the feeling of a bird in a cage. “Do you know, Haemum, that you are a citizen of the Fold? When you come of age you are free to go—anywhere in the Fold.”
Haemum’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Yes, Brother Rod. But I will never go. I will make my vows to the Spirit when I come of age, just like you.”
The doctor announced, “The adult is finished. Allow five to ten minutes for processing.”
While they waited, Rod thought of something. “How is your service financed?”
“You are half through your trial period. If you choose to continue, we’ll negotiate terms.”
So that was it; he figured it was too good to be true. “Haemum, you might as well have all the children scanned for everything before our trial period runs out.”
“Of course, Brother Rod. But surely we can continue somehow. We could raise our sapphire output; and there are crafts we could sell better, I know what Elysians like to buy…”
Though he knew better, Rod smiled.
“The child,” announced the doctor, “has eighty percent chance of surviving on Prokaryon with no ill effect. She should sleep in a filtered room for her first year, and consume only processed food. If respiratory or dietary problems occur, immediate removal from the planet is indicated.”
Rod was surprised. What would Station say to that?
“The adult should be able to eat some Prokaryan foods.” The doctor meant him, Rod realized. “Phycoid crops are recommended. Avoid hydroids and phycozoöids.”
“See, Brother Rod!” exclaimed Haemum. “This doctor says ’jum can go home, and you can start eating brokenhearts.”
“We’ll see. What does Station think?”
“My guidelines are more conservative,” came Station’s booming voice. “Of course, most protection kicks in during the first few months of lifeshaping. But the remaining twenty percent can take years.”
The disembodied white hands crossed each other. “Nevertheless, Colleague, most lifeshaped children make that adjustment on their own.”
“You’re correct,” said Station in the tone of one applauding a young student. “But when reversal does occur, you are surely aware that the corrective treatment is far more expensive than if the patient had stayed in my care. The Fold instructs me to minimize expenses.”
Rod wondered how to decide. “If we—if the Reverend Mother, that is—calls ’jum home, may she go?”
“She may go at any time,” said Station. “For that matter, you may eat whatever you see fit. But when you get sick, your expenses may cancel your quota.”
That was true; but with ’jum here at the clinic for a year, they would lose their quota in any case. Should they trust the new doctor over Station? What would Patella have done?
The Reverend Mother meditated for three days before her decision. At last she said, “The Spirit calls ’jum home.”
So they ordered the filter unit for ’jum’s room, then Rod packed up his few things and laid out ’jum’s best red-and-yellow tunic. The lab students surprised him with a farewell dinner. Quark’s eyespeaker came on Khral’s shoulder, and Elk Moon came with his mate, Three Crows, who had looked after ’jum several times. He had just recovered from his illness.
Elk was laughing as the table extended for him. “You see,” he told his mate with a pat on the back, “you just didn’t want to miss the party.”
“That is not true!” exclaimed Three Crows. “You just see how you like vomiting for three days. I broke my perfect attendance record.”
“Not a sick day on board for over five years,” Elk agreed. “Isn’t it funny, though, how it started the minute you set foot in the starship? Otherwise, you’d be gone now.”
Quark put in, “This subject is inappropriate for humans at dinner.”
Three Crows rolled his eyes. “Look who’s telling us to be human. Anyhow, I’ll miss ’jum. We’ve had some good times together, haven’t we, ’jum?”
’jum snuggled closer to Rod and dug her hands in her pockets. Gaea held up her arms. “Good times! Go play with zoöids again.”
Khral looked up. “They really love you, Rod. You must be a good dad.”
Rod did not answer, but he felt warm inside.
“And besides,” Three Crows added, “what a good aim that ’jum’s got, hasn’t she!” At that he and Elk collapsed laughing. Rod wished Three Crows had told him how the girl behaved. If she reverted to old habits, she needed correction.
“We’ll really miss you in the field,” Khral told him.
“Absolutely,” said Elk.
“How are Sarai’s microzoöids doing?” Rod asked. “Are they growing in culture?”
Suddenly the researchers grew silent. Elk looked away.
“They’re growing,” said Khral guardedly. “Their long generation time is a problem.” Her reticence surprised Rod. She switched on the tabletop holostage.
“A controversial motion comes up before the Fold Council this week.” The great arch of the Secretariat appeared, where representatives gathered from all the worlds of the Free Fold. “The measure provides for cleansing of territories on undeveloped worlds, like the mountaintops of Urulan. The motion enjoys strong support from the governments of Valedon, Bronze Sky, and L’li; Elysium remains undecided. Opponents call the measure ‘partial terraforming’; advocates call this term misleading. To voice your view, call in now…”
Khral said wearily, “We know, we all called in already.”
“Yes,” said Three Crows, “I know how all you scientists vote, but I’d like to know what our Spirit Caller thinks of it. What do you say, Rod: Wouldn’t it help your colony, to cleanse a bit of ground for human crops?”
Rod had mixed feelings. The idea had come up before. Distasteful as it was, it could save the lives of starving L’liites—those who had crashed would have had somewhere to go. “It might help others,” he explained, “but not us. Members of our order worship the Spirit of the land, wherever we dwell.”
“Then think well.” Elk spoke quietly in his deep voice, still looking away. “In the end, how much land may be left?”
“Things come to pass,” said Rod. “In the end, destroyers destroy themselves; but the Spirit dwells on.” That was the central insight Rod had experienced, in his last year at the Guard, the first time he heard the Reverend Mother Artemis.
A new presence filled the little holostage: the president of Bank Helicon, Iras Letheshon, whose soul Rod had prayed for. A blond Elysian, she reminded Rod of the Sardish cadets he had dated at the Academy. “The rumors are unfounded,” the doll-sized figure was telling the pair of snake eggs that hovered before her. “Terraforming is impossible—it would sunder the union of the Fold. How could Bank Helicon finance any such thing?”
“But our sources say you’ve advanced Proteus ten billion credits to buy up Prokaryan land,” insisted the snake egg. “Land uninhabitable by humans.”
“That’s incorrect.” Iras Letheshon spoke with the assurance of one enriched by several centuries and looking forward to several more.
“You’ve all but closed the deal with Nibur.” Nibur, the head of Proteus, who invented sentient-proof servos, and had just bought the House of Hyalite. Rod heard Quark restrain a hiss.
Iras shrugged. “Investors take risks and bet on new technologies. Proteus has developed means to cleanse limited tracts of land, without changing the whole biosphere. Clearing land is something humans have done since they first evolved.”
Khral was staring, her fork suspended. “Look at her,” she sighed. “Age, wealth, and all her looks, too.”
Three Crows nodded. “Is life fair, or what?”
Rod watched the Elysian coolly. He could imagine what follies would tempt a soul possessed of such worldly riches. The cadets at the Academy—he had known well how to please them. But then, he knew only emptiness.
The holostage turned black. Amid the blackness shone a few faint stars. There hung a pale sphere of a starship, its well-known logo rotating in: a wave on the ocean, cresting and rolling forever toward the shore.
“Proteus.” Quark spat the word. “It’s Proteus—the flagship of Proteus Unlimited. Why’d they bother? Nibur never lets a snake egg inside.”
Proteus. The spaceship the size of a moon, at your beck and call.
“As usual,” began the holostage, “we have no direct comment from Proteus headquarters, but our sources say—”
“Come on, Elk,” called Quark. “That scan of luminescence proteins must be done now; we want to get the results.”
Elk reached his long arm across Khral’s shoulder and transferred Quark’s eyespeaker to his own. Three Crows touched the table, and his dishes descended. They wished Rod well and left. Khral, however, remained, toying with her food.
Rod ate more slowly, trying to
savor the last taste of shepherd’s pie he would get for a long while. For a moment he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found Khral regarding him curiously. “What’s it like, Rod? I mean, to be a Spirit Caller.”
His fork stopped above his nearly empty plate. For some reason his pulse raced, as though he thought she might see into him, into places he scarcely dared look. “We call on the Spirit, forever. The Spirit calls on us to serve life throughout the universe, in even the smallest and meanest corner of it.”
“You mean, here?”
“Here and everywhere. Wherever life cries out for help.”
“It sounds like a lot of hard work. You wouldn’t even have time for a family of your own.”
“But the family is my own.” He tried to explain. “Each of us devotes his love to the Spirit, with a vow as sacred as marriage.”
“I see.” She sighed. “Scientists are like that, too; no time for families, only experiments.”
Rod had something on his mind to ask. “You know, if you really could use my help with experiments in the field…”
“Yes?”
“I might still get an hour off now and then, to help collect samples.” The rate of pay had impressed him. The colony could use extra credits.
Khral’s face brightened considerably. “Oh would you? I mean, yes, the more hands the better. In fact, our field strategy is changing a bit. You might be interested to know…” She stopped. “Say—you’re going down on that old lightcraft tomorrow, right? You could use help managing those children, I’m sure. Let me come down with you. Don’t say no; I’ll meet you at the gate in the morning.”
EIGHT
Deep in the void sailed the shoreless blue ocean world, whom the Sharer natives called Shora. All planets please the eye, be their continents habitable or cloaked in poison gas; but to Elysians in their floating cities, Shora was the most beautiful of all, the home of eternal life and peace.
The Children Star Page 9
