The Children Star (12 page)

“It's the skinsuit,” Sarai insisted. “A sentient skinsuit; you can't fool me.”

Rod laughed aloud, then he checked himself, remembering this was Sarai after all. “We are quite proud of her.”

Sarai stared at 'jum long and hard. “So. Tell me, 'jum,” she said more quietly. “What do the numbers thirty-seven, one forty-nine, and ten thousand seven have in common?”

“They are all . . . orphans,” said 'jum.

“Just so. 'jum Ghana, come and take a look at those ‘orphans.' “Sarai led her down the hall to her laboratory, Rod following behind with Gaea held tight in his arms. Pods hung from vines, like the one that Sarai had dipped into a vat, calling it “genocide.” A tabletop holostage displayed a microzoöid cell, like the ones in Khral's laboratory. The ring-shaped cell was filled with twisted fibers. “These are spiro-jointed polymers,” Sarai said, pointing to the fibers. “These polymers can receive photons and emit them—that is, they glow. Now why do you suppose this cell always emits photons in bursts of ‘orphan' numbers? Thirty-seven, forty-three, ten thousand seven?”

“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 the 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?”