The Children Star (39 page)

The patient sat against the pillows. He breathed well, and his color looked good, but his eyes held a vacant stare.

“Stand up, please,” said the medic.

The patient rose without looking up, the covers falling to his side.

“Now walk to the door, and come back.”

This, too, the patient managed, putting one foot in front of the other. At the door he turned, then walked back to stand by the bed.

“Now tell us your name.”

The man continued to stare. The entire Council chamber fell silent.

WHAT IS WRONG? THE CHEMICALS IN YOUR BLOODSTREAM FRIGHTEN OUR CHILDREN.

Verid tried to relax.
You know what your brothers and sisters have done, to other human worlds. Be still and let me think
.

“You see?” The medic inclined its caterpillar body toward the viewers. “This patient has entirely lost his higher
mental functions. Before we cleared the infection, his empty mind was ruled by the so-called micromen. A beast of burden.” The caterpillar bobbed its head. “I myself am a sentient, immune to infection so far. But you humans—this is what will become of you.”

“What do you recommend?” called Delegate Valedon.

“What do you think?” demanded Nibur. “Even the so-called micromen confess that they plan our destruction. All the medics recommend prompt elimination of their source.”

“Then you'll have to cleanse every planet of the Fold.” Verid looked around the Council. “Those two unfortunate citizens received treatment too late—because they came from Valedon, and from Bronze Sky. Where have no micromen reached? One way or another, we have to live with them.”

“They haven't yet reached us,” said Delegate Solaris, from the most distant of the Fold's worlds. “Cleanse their main source. It may be too late, but it's the least we can do.”

Verid felt a chill. She had counted on Solaris.

“Boil the planet,” agreed Delegate Urulan. “We should have done so to start.”

The Delegate Sentient added, “Alas, I have come to share the view of my medical colleagues. As much as I value the possibility of intelligent life, I cannot but recall that the very first casualties of Prokaryon were sentients. Of course, we've adjusted our composition since—but what if these dangerous pathogens mutate?”

The second vote Verid had counted on, from one who ought to understand best. She turned to the lamppost sentient, inwardly bitter. “What then?” she asked, her brows high. “Genocide? For a race newly certified? Do you propose to rewrite the constitution?”

The reporters bobbed expectantly.

“Cowards!” The Sharer snapped her purple fingerwebs. “My people have shared microbial symbionts for countless generations. How can you miss this opportunity?”

“The ‘opportunity' is voluntary,” Verid added. “Future colonists can choose to be carriers. The rest of us are largely safe, since transmission requires an insect vector. Control of the insects will contain their spread.”

“For how long?” countered Nibur. “A good reason to wipe out the main source now, while they can still be contained. Intelligent invaders—who knows what tortures they'll invent?”

“I call for a vote,” said Delegate Bronze Sky suddenly. “The white hole is ready and waiting—we need to decide.”

“Second,” called Delegate Valedon.

Verid's hands shook. “The question is called: Do we activate the white hole to cleanse Prokaryon?” She called the roll. “Delegate Bronze Sky?”

“No.” One switched—she had a chance.

“Delegate Elysium?”

“Yes.”

“Delegate L'li?”

The man paused thoughtfully. “For the moment I pass.” L'li never liked to be taken for granted.

“Delegate Sentient?”

“Yes.”

“Delegate Sharer?”

“No. My sisters will surround that world with a living shield.”

“Order, please. Delegate Solaris?”

“Yes.”

“Delegate Valedon?”

“Yes.”

Verid turned to L'li. “Is the Delegate ready to vote?”

“I vote against.” He rose to speak. “The decision is too
sudden. We need time to study the possible opportunities for my people; indeed, for all the citizens of the Fold.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Delegate Urulan?”

“Against—
until we can completely wipe out this plague!”

Iras had bought him after all; how many water projects, Verid could only guess. She collapsed in her seat, her own whispered vote nearly lost in the buzzing of reporters.

“Be warned,” cried Nibur from the holostage. “You'll live to regret this day. You'll all end up mindless beasts.”

Delegate Elysium raised his voice. “The Council is not yet done. The second item on our agenda is our call to impeach the Secretary of the Fold. I have been asked to read the charges—”

“Never mind,” interrupted Verid.

The Elysian looked up, surprised by the breach of order.

“I resign, effective immediately.”

Around the chamber, the delegates turned to stare.

“Impossible,” exclaimed the Sharer. “You'll beat the charges, Secretary. You have to fight.”

“Sorry, but I meant it. I resign.”

No one else spoke, but their faces all registered surprise and discomfort. They could not believe it, Verid realized. After five centuries of her rising in power, they assumed she would always have a win up her sleeve.

“You made this mess,” accused Delegate Elysium. “How—how dare you just walk out of it!”

Verid sighed. “I'll stick around to help, if the Council wishes. But as Secretary I cannot continue. It's too distracting, being a carrier.”

The delegates gasped, and the reporters bobbed in confusion. Delegate Sharer came over to embrace Verid in her skinsuit, while Delegate Elysium turned pale and collapsed.
There were calls for quarantine, and the octopods closed in.

WHAT IS GOING ON?

We've won your planet a reprieve. But you'll wait many generations before they set me free
.

At Station, travel was reopened, though departure required extensive testing. Rod resumed something of his former schedule with the children on the satellite. With no farm chores to take his time, he immersed himself in their education, setting up regular programs for each child.

On Prokaryon, the storms had subsided within a few days. The micromen living there lost interest in the threat after two or three generations. Meanwhile, several mining firms sued to return, including Diorite, who had set himself up independent.

“It's the chance of a lifetime,” Diorite told Rod. “Get in on the ground floor, before everyone figures it out.”

“Really?” asked Rod. “Do people really want to live here and be carriers?”

“The smart ones are lining up to stake their claim. And not just from L'li either.”

“But the Council could change their mind. Nibur still owns the planet.”

Diorite chuckled. “Rumor has it Nibur sold off his holdings at a sizable profit.”

“Those micromen—I still think we're sitting on a time bomb.”

“Not so long as they need whirrs to transmit.”

“But they're intelligent. They'll learn.”

Diorite shrugged. “They can't be more dangerous than a few humans I know—or sentients, they're no better. Say, when are
you
coming back? Feldspar's waiting.”

“The Reverend Mother will decide.”

Rod no longer ignored the news as he used to. He made himself spend a half hour at the holo each day. The Secretariat was at a standstill, with its former executive in quarantine, and special elections called. The worlds of the Fold hurled charges and countercharges of “who lost Prokaryon,” though all meant different things. Some cautiously welcomed the microbial symbionts, while others called for their destruction. New carriers of micromen appeared on Valedon. Meanwhile on L'li, Reyo was falling apart worse than ever, its streets split by roaming gangs, while thousands died of creeping.

One day Mother Artemis summoned Rod and Geode together. “Station says we may leave,” she announced. “We may leave Prokaryon, after extensive testing; the children can join a Spirit Home on Valedon.” She paused to let her meaning sink in. “Or, we can return to this world and rebuild our colony.”

Geode's six arms waved at once. “Yes! Tomorrow.”

Mother Artemis picked up Qumum, who crawled inquisitively across the floor. “Remember,” she warned, bouncing the child, “the humans inevitably will be carriers, including the youngest children. What that may mean in the long run, we can't say.” She and Geode both looked at Rod.

Qumum was sucking on his fingers while taking in the world with his wide eyes. Rod's internal guests had warned him of what the other micromen, back on Prokaryon, might do to humans who returned. But his own would have given their lives to save him. He also remembered the L'liite newborn. “Better pioneers than orphans,” he observed at last. “If the Spirit calls, let us go.”

“So be it,” said Mother Artemis. “We still need more help, though, to maintain the colony while we keep up the children's studies. Three Crows would like to stay on with us.”

“I knew he would!” said Geode. “The Spirit heard our prayer.”

Rod wondered what Elk would think. Then he thought of Khral. Since the crisis passed, he had avoided her, cursing his weakness. A Spirit Caller had no use for mortal love. Now that the colony had a second chance, so did he.

The light of Iota Pavonis filled the fields, already full of fragrant loopleaves. The home of the Spirit Colony had been flattened by the storm, and their crops mostly washed away, but the brokenhearts had reseeded and grown wild, filling the paths they had cleared with succulent golden rings. With Feldspar's help they began to rebuild their home, plow the fields, and restore the sapphire mine. Haemum and Chae returned to pitch in. They hunted down a herd of four-eyes zigzagging across the loopleaves, and soon brought home fresh meat.

As Rod climbed to the roof to set new tiles, the breeze caught his cheeks, and brilliant helicoids whirled overhead. His own spirit rose with them. Never had this world seemed so precious as since it nearly perished.

Yet in fact, the old world had perished; the old, mysterious world that Rod once knew. In place of mystery, there was the known, inescapable presence of the micromen.

HUMAN, THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER WORLDS OUT HERE. WORLDS EVEN OUR ELDERS BARELY REMEMBER, FULL OF BRAVE NEW PEOPLE.

Rod watched a whirr alight on his arm and take off, perhaps bound for a tumbleround at the edge of the singing-trees. It felt odd to be a city and airport for millions of microscopic people.

THEIR PEOPLE ARE DIFFERENT FROM US. So the micromen themselves faced culture shock. THEY
FRIGHTEN US. THEY THREATEN TO TAKE US OVER AND RULE YOU LIKE A TUMBLEROUND.

Don't let them, Rod warned, setting a tile in place. Why had the Fold forced the former Secretary into quarantine, instead of sending her back here to deal with these new “worlds”? For now, he could only hope that Station's nanoservos—and his own micromen—continued to protect him.

TELL US SOMETHING. DO HUMAN WORLDS MEET AND MARRY LIFELONG PARTNERS, OR DO THEY COUPLE HEEDLESSLY, LIKE THE TUMBLEROUNDS?

Both, Rod told them, or neither. Some of us marry the Spirit. He wished they would leave such topics until he was safe on the ground.

WE NEED A LIFETIME TO KNOW EACH OTHER, BEFORE WE CAN SAFELY MERGE AND BECOME CHILDREN.

How odd, to grow up to be children.

On the ground below, Gaea came toward the ladder, her feet dragging dejectedly. “Brother Rod?”

Rod quickly came down the ladder and swung the three-year-old up to face him. “What's the matter, Gaea?”

“My head hurts. And I see funny lights in my eyes.”

He frowned. In the younger children, the nanoservos were supposed to keep down the numbers of micromen so they avoided making “contact” until the children were old enough to understand. He took her to the holostage, which had just got reinstalled.

“Sarai, please.”

Sarai had returned to her laboratory in the mountain, which had escaped the storms largely untouched. Mother Artemis had let 'jum return with her, to continue studying the micromen. Now they both appeared on the holostage.

“We're terribly busy right now,” Sarai told him. “Two Sharer sisters have arrived to join my work on triplex DNA replication, and neither of them knows the first thing. They can't even run the enzyme secretors.”

'jum looked up from her numbers. “I'll show them how.” She had grown dramatically, her legs strong and slender; she would soon reach his shoulder.

Rod held Gaea up to Savai. “You once cleared Gaea of micros. Could you help her again? She gets headaches, and really feels bad.”

Sarai looked shocked. “What do you take me for? I've renounced genocide. How could you live with yourself, let alone with all your internal friends?”

“They could always find a tumbleround.” He had expected her reply, but it was worth a try before calling Station. As for 'jum, she had settled back with her adopted mother, busily working with her own “sisterlings.” She had all the friends she could need now.

Suddenly 'jum leaned into the holostage. “Brother Rod, when are you coming to see me again? I'll show you my numbers, and a new dance I learned.”

“Yes, when are you coming?” said Sarai. “We need to interview your sisterlings.”

Rod smiled. “I'll come soon, 'jum; as soon as the crops are planted.”

He closed the connection, dreading the call he would have to make to Station. The medics would help, but they always made him feel like a beggar. No one had heard from Patella for months now, and the Spirit Fathers showed no sign of sending another doctor.

“You have a neutrinogram,” announced the holostage before he could speak. “From Chrysoport, Valedon: Brother Chrysoprase and Sister Heather, of the Sacred Society of Spirit Brethren.”