The Children Star (38 page)

“Sarai's place,” he murmured. “It's just like the road to Sarai; the same kind of rock formations. And Sarai used to live—” He grabbed Diorite's jacket. “Caverns,” he shouted. “They could be hiding there.”

“That's it! We have to scan the earth deeper.” Diorite called into his radio, which somehow was still working.

Rod could not say how long it was until at last the forensic detectors had traced the human signal to one stretch of hillside. The searchers traced back and forth, but still nothing could be seen, no hint of any kind of entrance in the mud.

FORGIVENESS. EVEN IF A PLANET DIES, ONE MUST ALWAYS FORGIVE. THIS WE WILL TELL OUR BROTHERS.

His shoulders shook, and his tears joined the rain. These micromen had “evolved” too far, he thought; they made him feel small.

Suddenly the ground gave way beneath his feet. It was not ground after all, but a tangle of branch loops woven cleverly together. Now, though, it was falling apart. Rod
struggled to right himself and climb out, but he slid inexorably into a dark hole.

An arm came round his chest, immobilizing him. At his neck pressed something sharp, the blade of a knife.

Rod made himself relax. Whoever it was had not killed him yet; his best chance now was to wait for an opening.

“Not one move, you devil.” The voice spoke in L'liite.

“Kill him now,” urged another. “Spirit save us—they won't send us back.” They did not sound like “llamas.” And yet—they were alive.

The rest of the opening crashed through. In the confusion, Rod slipped away from his captor and crawled across the floor. Light broke through, and there were screams and shouts. Rod heard a zapping sound that he did not recognize. Abruptly all was calm, except for the cursing of three L'liites immobilized by webbing emitted by the forensic sentients. Somewhere unseen a woman was sobbing.

“Spawn of dogs,” cried one of the L'liites, straining at the nanoplastic web. “We'll die before you send us back.”

“We won't,” shouted Diorite. “We need your help to save our planet.”

Not a likely story, Rod realized. How could the L'liites believe it? As Diorite tried to persuade them, Rod's eyes adjusted to the dim light. The cavern had been swept and kept tidy, until their rude entrance. There were pots and blankets and an oil lamp in the corner. The rubbery smell of cooked four-eyes was familiar. The woman sobbing in the corner held something protectively.

“Father,” called one of the trapped men. He was calling to Rod, staring at his starstone. “Father, you will tell us. Is this true?”

Rod flushed, for he was only yet a Brother, and the stone felt heavy on his neck. “Yes,” he replied, sketching a star. “It's true.”

The woman looked up. “A Spirit Caller,” she exclaimed. “At last—one to bless the new name.” She held up a tightly wrapped infant, its eyes tight shut, sleeping through the storm as only infants could. Its face was still wrinkled like an old man; he or she could not be more than a month old. The first human baby born on Prokaryon.

F
rom within the Fold ship Verid watched the glittering sphere of the Secretariat, in its eternal orbit about Elysium. She flexed her fingers, uncomfortable in the skinsuit that the medical service had decreed she must wear—for the rest of her life, perhaps? Glacially she eyed the three octopods assigned to guard her—or the entire Fold from her.

In another ten minutes the shuttle would take her down, straight into the Council meeting she had postponed for the past week.

THEY ARE TAKING NO CHANCES. NOT TO LET YOU CHANGE MINDS.

STILL, YOU COULD WORK ON THE BRONZE SKYAN DELEGATE. SHE LISTENS TO REASON.

THE SENTIENT DELEGATE COMMUNICATES ON OUR TIME SCALE, PERHAPS WE CAN REACH HER—

Verid blinked her eyes. “Enough already; I can't hear
myself think.” She had tried to educate her internal symbionts about Fold politics, and now they all wanted to advise her. Unlike her human advisors, she could not sack them.

On the holostage appeared the head of Loris Anaeas
shon
, the Delegate Elysium, stern but triumphant. “With all due respect, Secretary, the Council asks me to advise you that you are to join us
directly
, with no inappropriate word to the press. You understand my meaning.”

“Of course,
Shon
sib.” Her voice sounded hollow inside the skinsuit which covered her mouth. “Just a photo-op.” Although the Council meeting was closed, all kinds of frightful rumors had gotten out, and the Fold was in an uproar. The snake eggs would demand a brief statement.

“I trust you've read and understand the charges against you.”

“Absolutely. Second on our agenda.”

WE'RE LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS MEETING. SOME OF US WILL LIVE TO SEE THE END.

YOU NEED TO VISIT OUR COUNCIL, TOO. PLEASE REMEMBER PROTOCOL IS MOST IMPORTANT. THE LESSER OFFICIALS FLASH BLUE AND GREEN, WHEREAS THE GREATER ONES FLASH PINK AND YELLOW.

“Secretary?” The welcome sound of her nanoservos in her ear, from her aide.

“Finally,” she exclaimed. “Is our plan ready?”

“Yes. We have all the snake eggs expecting a statement, just ten minutes outside the meeting.”

The aide approached, his Elysian train full of sky-blue butterflies. “Verid—it's a wonder to see you.”

Verid lifted her hand, feeling her skinsuit stretch. “Wonders never cease. Tell me the worst, Lem.”

“Elysium is nearly in panic. Everyone is getting ‘tested,' although they scarcely know what they're testing for. And
now they're expelling all foreigners—all but essential ones, of course . . .”

Verid swung round to meet him, her nanoplastic train swerving expertly, and the octopods fell in beside. Slowly the convoy progressed to the door of the shuttlecraft. Elysians took their time.

“. . . Valedon is nearly as bad; there are riots in the streets of Iridis,” continued Lem at her ear.

WHAT SORT OF HUMAN IS THIS? A GOOD WORLD TO VISIT?

No. She strove to burn the words into her retina. No, I
say; be still
.

BRING US WHIRRS. WE CAN PENETRATE YOUR “SKINSUIT.”

Verid squeezed her eyes.
Stay put, lest you and I be incinerated
.

“Secretary?” Beside her Lem was frowning.

“Fatigue, that's all. Do go on.”

The shuttlecraft docked, its nanoplast melding into the surface of the Secretariat. In the wall a mouth opened to let Verid pass.

“Secretary,” whispered the nanoservos in her head. “Now is the time.”

The snake eggs jostled so thickly that Verid instinctively raised an arm. Octopods waved at them threateningly, but all knew that interference with reporters could bring a life sentence. Speech was the most sacred commodity of the Fold—and the most profane, she thought. The Council meeting was just minutes away.

“Secretary, is it true that alien microbes will enslave us all?”

“Were you infected, Secretary? When will the test results be released?”

“What will the Council do?”

Verid shook her head. “Listen.” She raised her voice and spoke slowly. “I have one announcement to make. I hereby announce . . . by executive order . . . that the Council meeting about to begin . . . is open to the public.”

The reporters fell back in confusion, the smarter ones zipping out to race to the Council chamber before the delegates could countermand Verid's order. As she entered the chamber, they were indeed attempting to do just that. But it was too late, Verid saw; some of the reporters had slipped in, and to eject them would make a scene nobody wished to be seen in.

“Never mind.” The Delegate Bronze Sky glared, her dark features rigid with fury. “Verid, I've backed you before, but this is it. You've got a lot of explaining to do.”

“And one more count of impeachment,” observed Delegate Elysium, reclining comfortably in the seat that opened beneath him like a flower.

“Oh hush,” said Delegate Sharer. “Let's at least congratulate the Secretary on her return alive and well.” The Sharer was purple as always, with the oxygen-breathing microbes that thronged in her flesh. Verid smiled gratefully, thinking, we are sisters now.

Delegate L'li watched intently. “Congratulations, indeed.” He had received her secret message—but had sent no reply. Still guarding his options.

“We waste time!” Delegate Urulan shook his fist at her, playing to his own home audience. “Boil the planet! Better yet, eject it to another universe!”

Verid kept standing. “It is my duty as Secretary of the Fold, and my great honor, to certify the discovery of a new, intelligent community of people. A new form of intelligence, indeed the first form we've met that evolved completely outside human civilization.” She leaned forward. “Microscopic people.”

“An outrage!”
Delegate Urulan was beside himself.

“Out of order,” snapped Delegate L'li. “Let the Secretary continue.”

Verid went on. “These microscopic people live a year for every ten minutes of our own lives. Their species and culture evolved at a comparably high rate. A hundred years ago, when our first human explorers arrived on Prokaryon, they had only just diverged from the lesser microbes whose ancestry they share, like our own Stone Age ancestors once did. Even then, they covered the entire planet with rows of crops they tilled and the animal hosts they governed. Today, they run advanced communications all across their planet—advanced enough to rule their planet's weather at a moment's notice. This is indeed an intelligence worthy of our respect.”

“Finding intelligence was not your charge.” The Delegate Valedon's jewels glittered on his talar. “Your charge was . . .” He stopped, eyeing the reporters. Genocide was not done in public.

“But more than our respect, these people—we call them ‘micromen'—bring us enormous hope. Living within our bodies, they can be partners to us, in a grand new venture to the stars. They can use their own chemistry to extend our physiological capacities to inhabit new worlds. Not only Prokaryon,
but other new worlds
. No more laborious lifeshaping; no more costly colonies that never pay back. As proof—”

She tossed a lump of nanoplast to the holostage. The stage filled with the L'liite refugees, presumed dead yet found alive and well, in a habitat that should have killed them in a week. The three men and a woman stared defiantly. The woman clutched her infant with one hand, and raised her fist. “This is
our
world. Long live New Reyo!”

Verid carefully avoided looking at the Delegate L'li. For
a moment she regretted the future she foresaw—a thousand worlds overrun by humans with their micromen. But that was a problem for another day. “The child you see was born to these healthy, untreated immigrants—
born on Prokaryon
, a feat that none of our lifeshaping has yet accomplished. Their microbial symbionts figured out how to do this. Citizens, try to imagine the intellect that achieved this. Humans and micromen—What miracles can we not accomplish together?” She scanned the reporters bobbing up and down beneath the ceiling.

“Honorable Secretary,” the Delegate Elysium smoothly began. “Surely you are not taken in by this . . . constructed footage.”

“I shook their hands myself.”

Delegate Elysium shuddered delicately; Elysians never made physical contact in public, let alone with carriers of a plague. He shook his head with elaborate condescension. “Really,
Shon
sib. We know you've put your heart into this, but the job of the Council is to be objective. Do you agree, Delegate Valedon?”

Delegate Valedon was busy whispering to his nanoservos. He looked up to say, “My confidential sources assure me the scene cannot be genuine. How were these purported L'liites ‘discovered' just now, so conveniently?”

Verid raised her eyebrows. “Do you question my integrity, or my competence?”

“Come, Citizens,” demanded Delegate Bronze Sky. “You can't fool the reporters. We know it's true: The L'liites were found alive. The question is, what to do about it?”

“No, Citizens.” A new voice came from the holostage. “That is not the question.”

It was Nibur
Letheshon
. Nibur stood in their midst, his virtual talar shimmering before the never-ending wave of
Proteus
.

“What's this?” exclaimed Verid. “Out of order.”

WATCH OUT, PLEASE. YOUR ADRENALINE RUNS TOO FAST—IT MAKES US SICK. Verid closed her eyes.

Nibur was saying, “You yourself opened the Council to the public.”

“I called this witness,” said Delegate Valedon. “Let him speak.”

The others assented. Verid's thoughts whirled, trying to recalculate.

“Thank you, Honorable Council,” said Nibur. “The real question is, what about the carriers not so lucky as myself? What of those who died—or worse.” His image was replaced by that of a patient in bed at Station, with a medical caterpillar bending over him. One of the two former carriers who had failed to heal.