The Children Star (30 page)

“It's amazing,” Khral observed. “Their numbers sort of cycle back on each other, just like—”

“They can count on their fingers for all I care. You can't experiment on a child.”

“The Reverend Mother said she could stay.” Khral bit her lip. “I'm sorry, Rod. How else will Haemum and the other carriers be saved?”

Elk explained, “Some of the carriers from New Reyo have sickened, too, like the Elysians.”

Rod felt numb.

“I don't like it either,” Elk added, “but so long as the microzoöids communicate, we need 'jum's help. You see, they work
visually
—whether ‘talking' one-on-one, or sending messages by singing-tree, or hiding in your brain. Your visual system is the one part that makes sense to them. They can ‘see' what your eyes see; then they stimulate your brain to ‘see' their own signals.”

“Excuse me,” Station interrupted. “Prepare for Safety Drill. Everyone immediately relocate to your evacuation vessel, for use in an unlikely emergent event.”

Sighing, Khral headed for the exit.

Rod tried to nudge 'jum from her seat. At last he carried the potted vine along with her. “I don't remember Safety Drills,” he told Khral. “What's Station thinking? Do the microzoöids have spaceships to attack?”

“We need to be prepared,” said Khral. “In case the microzoöids get into nanoplast. They could wreck Station herself.”

He had not thought of that. They reached the lifeship and helped 'jum to climb in. No one would last long, he realized, even in a lifeship. And who would care to pick them up?

“Khral, it's so quiet here now. The reporters—where are all the snake eggs?”

“All sent home, by emergency order. Since then, not a ship can leave.”

“I thought the microzoöids bail out when you get near a spaceship.”

“Not always. Carriers have been found as far as Valedon and Bronze Sky.”

Microzoöids infecting everywhere—the thought chilled him.

“Never fear, Rod,” said Khral, “we've got plenty to do before you try the docking tube. A crash course in microzoöid linguistics.”

The biologists tried to connect all they knew about the microzoöids' language, from Khral's statistics, from the “words” Sarai and 'jum had identified, and from the messages inside Rod's vision. They probed Rod with nanoservos to report the effects of the microzoöids in his occipital lobe. The holostage produced sentences for Rod to read, alongside flashing number codes that Sarai thought might represent familiar objects—a singing-tree, a zoöid—and activities, such as a person walking or swimming. Several hundred of these were tried, over the course of an hour, but there was no response. Rod found himself wondering if he had only imagined whatever he saw before.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, a light flashed. “There it is,” he exclaimed. “A letter will form. . . .”

“Exactly,” said Station. “The nanoservos report detecting stimulation of your optical receptors. The microzoöids are responsible, somehow. They must produce neurotransmitters.”

Rod read out the response: MAN SWIMS ZOOID—WHO SWIMS LLAMA?

Elk and Khral exchanged looks. “It's gibberish,” said Elk.

“Maybe not,” said Khral. “A microbe experiences life differently; instead of walking, you swim.”

“They don't ‘swim' in llamas,” Elk objected. “We tested all the llamas, along with the children. The llamas were clear—not a silicate to be found.”

“Maybe the micros use some other kind of ‘skinsuit' inside llamas,” suggested Khral, “which the medics can't detect.”

“Oh, no,” said Quark. “Don't say that.”

The medic said, “We incinerated all nonhuman potential carriers.”

Good-bye llamas, thought Rod, with a silent prayer. “Where would the micros get the word ‘who'? You never showed them a picture.”

Khral thought about this. “Your mind must have formed a picture of it. You must have been wondering ‘who?' quite a lot lately.”

“You mean they can read my mind—whatever I'm thinking?”

Elk shook his head. “I doubt that. Only things you can visualize.”

Rod closed his eyes. “I'm not sure I can handle this,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I'd rather have meningitis. You can clear out the silicates, and ‘talk' to them in tissue culture.”

For a while no one spoke.

“If that's what you want, Rod,” said Khral. “I'll direct the nanoservos myself.”

Elk looked away, his face creased in pain.

The medic said, “I just left one of the Elysians in critical condition. Without treatment soon, she will deteriorate beyond repair.”

Rod took a breath. “Let's get on with it.”

“Very well,” said Khral with an effort. “But Station, we
can't just speed up basic research. One word at a time—what else can we do?”

From across the lab came Sarai to check their progress. “Now that we've figured out words and numbers, we're working on chemical names. Ushum has figured out what they call methane and ethane.”

Elk gave Sarai a weary glance. “That's great, but how will it help us talk them into leaving us alone?”

Khral said, “Perhaps 'jum's population learns faster.” Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. What if . . . we put the two cultures together?”

Elk caught his fist. “That's it! We remove a few each from Rod and from 'jum, then put them together in culture fluid and let them share information.”

“Just like we shared with you, Sarai.”

Sarai folded her arms. “Ushum's microzoöids seem content where they are. Would they like being kidnapped? Refugees in a culture dish?”

“No time for that approach,” said Station. “Let's inoculate a few from 'jum directly into Rod.”

The medic reared angrily, waving several limbs. “I object! This is completely against regulations.”

“It's too much,” Elk agreed. “We can't treat people like test tubes.”

“I make the regulations here,” said Station.

Rod held up his hands. “Never mind. With so many already, what's a few more?”

The caterpillar body hunched down. “I withdraw from the case.” With that statement, the medic crawled out.

“I'll do the transfer,” said Khral quietly. “I'm certified.” She coaxed 'jum over to sit by the probe, then directed it to withdraw a dozen silicates from her spinal fluid. Rod watched her expert hands, thick hair down the back of her fingers. Afterward, as she turned to him, her arm was shaking.

Elk said, “We can call one of the other medics.”

“Leave them be, the cowards.” Khral's voice was short. “The probe will do its work. Rod, you can settle yourself here, while the cell sorter filters out things that would trigger your immune response.”

Rod sat next to the probe and looked away as it snaked near his back.

After the transfer his temperature rose, and he developed a headache. Station was reluctant to administer drugs that might affect the “visitors” in his brain, so long as his own health was not in danger. He went to bed to rest. Rest did not come easy, though, with a roomful of machines sending alarms at his slightest change in blood pressure. He dozed unevenly, dreaming of the long trail before Mount Anaeon, the mist rising forever in the distance, the loopleaves forever tangling his feet.

The afternoon passed, with still no sign from the visitors, new or old. No more lights flashed in his head at all, no matter what he tried to “show” them. The hours passed, and all the researchers could do was wait.

At his bedside, Khral and Quark came to visit. Khral touched his hand. “Are you feeling better, Rod?”

“Much better,” he said, not admitting why.

“Rod—you're not mad at us, are you?”

“No. I just wish . . .” For a moment the nanoplastic walls and ceiling all slipped away, all just a mistake, corrected. He was back at the homestead the colonists had built with their own hands, the children tugging at his legs, the llamas calling outside, the brokenhearts ready for harvest. Then his eyes focused again, and he half sat up. “What's been happening to the planet?” he demanded. “Have they—”

“They've done nothing.” Khral brightened, glad to bring good news. “There were so many incidents with ‘bad weather' that they just postponed the cleansing indefinitely.”

“They don't admit as much,” said Quark, “but they're dead scared. Have you any idea how much power it takes to make a storm appear out of a blue sky? Proteus doesn't know what's going on—nobody does.”

Rod sank back again, feeling his prayers were answered. “I just wish I could do a better job for you. Maybe these microzoöids have trouble remembering what they learn, and passing things on, if their generation only lasts a day.”

“Oh no,” said Khral. “It's true, most of them reproduce within a day, but their ‘elders' live on for another month or so. Like Elysians, some choose to live longer, instead of having children of their own.”

“Even so,” said Quark, “you can see why the ones in the singing-trees lost interest after a month of trying to figure us out.”

Rod thought this over. “Station is right; we have little time.”

Khral swallowed carefully. “Station wants you to try the docking tube tomorrow morning—whether you've seen any more signals or not.”

The docking tube connected to Station at its innermost ring, where centrifugal “gravity” was lightest. Rod approached the gate with Khral, flanked by two medics who had swallowed their principles to attend. He knew his head swarmed with nanoservos, ready to detect whatever the silicate-suited micros did.

As he approached the gate, his steps slowed. In the smooth face of nanoplast, a dent formed, deepening as usual until a hole opened. Air hissed, as the pressure changed. Was this the signal the microzoöids detected? Rod blinked a few times, but he felt no different. What if they did nothing this time, he wondered. Suppose they wanted to visit the stars?

The hole widened until the nanoplast flattened to floor and ceiling, all around the gateway. Rod could see the usual round tunnel beyond, and he stepped into it. As always the artificial gravity gave a lurch, as the tube began to rotate; Rod gripped a handle for a moment, as he generally did.

Suddenly his head swam, and lights flashed in his eyes. He stumbled back through the gate, where one of the medics caught him. The room spun around him crazily.

“Rod, what's wrong?” called Khral, as if from far away. “Can you see anything?”

One of the medics made an injection in his neck, and his balance stabilized. Rod squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make out the flashing letters.
NO . . . NOT READY
.

“ ‘No, not ready,' ” he read aloud. “Not ready for what?” He tried to “see” the letters in his mind.

NOT READY TO LEAVE. LLAMA STAY.

He absorbed this. “I am not a llama,” he exclaimed. “A llama is a pack animal. I'm a man.” He tried to visualize each word.

YOU ANIMAL. MEN NOT READY TO LEAVE. ANIMAL STAY.

Rod was back in bed, dozing on and off while the instruments profiled his blood, sorted his cells, typed his proteins and a thousand other things. A tone sounded, and Khral came in. He sat himself up; his head felt not so bad. “Any news? How are the Elysians?”

“We've had a breakthrough.” Khral sat by the bed and leaned forward eagerly. “Your nanoservos monitored the silicates in your brain, all the while they were acting up. The chemistry gets complicated, but—let's just say the microzoöids had to let down their guard, to put out their neurotransmitters. We figured out a way to neutralize them, so
they do no harm as they're removed. We tried it on the sicker Elysian first. If Iras remains stable, we'll try it tomorrow on . . . the other one.” The hated creator of Proteus.

Rod sighed. “I'm glad something worked.”

“And you? Any change?”

He shrugged. “The letters come back now and then. They call me an ‘animal,' and tell me to ‘go' and ‘stay,' like a dog.” For these rude creatures, his children had risked their lives? “I guess this is what it feels like to be a tumbleround, bossed by microzoöids.”

“Fascinating . . . That is, I mean, how awful,” said Khral. “I don't envy Secretary Verid dealing with them.”

He looked up hopefully. “I don't suppose you could . . . well, now that you've figured out how to—”

“Oh yes—we can get them out of you, too, and put them safely in the culture, whether they like it or not.” Khral half smiled. “Sarai will have plenty to work with.”

The medic returned, rearing its caterpillar-shaped body over the bed to prepare for the spinal tap. Rod rested patiently, thinking how he could rejoin the children again, free at last of his uninvited guests.

Before his eyes the letters reappeared. STOP. MEN NOT READY TO LEAVE ANIMAL.

Too bad, he thought to himself. Find some zoöid to live in.

ANIMAL WILL LEARN.

Pain filled his skull, spreading throughout his body, as if he were ripped apart very slowly, into very small pieces. Rod gripped his skull, trying to control himself, but it had come on too suddenly.
“Stop, stop.”
The pain went on, unending, for hour after hour, the kind of pain he would have severed his own limb to get rid of, except that it was everywhere, in every limb and crevice, within belly and brain.

At last the pain died. Still breathing heavily, Rod looked
himself over, his hands and arms, hardly believing he was still intact. “By Torr, that was—” He looked up at the medic still rearing over him, though the instruments had been removed. “Couldn't you hear? What took you so long?”

The medic said, “We required two minutes to withdraw the tap safely.”

Two minutes. He looked accusingly at Khral. “I thought you said they could only work with vision. Isn't pain in a different part of the brain?”