by Laer Carroll
"How come I've never heard of the—Org? It seems like they ought to be in history books."
"I've wondered that, too. I have some theories, well, guesses.
"One is that it's not polite to talk about prostitution. And prosties who are proud to be prosties? Double taboo.
"Another guess—any book that talks about the whores gets burned in the warehouse, or maybe even at the printers. Or stays locked up. The briefing material we studied is numbered and labeled confidential on pain of termination and stored in a locked cabinet. It looks like it's at least ten, maybe twenty years old. We sign it out, read it in the classroom, and sign it back in."
"But you say the word gets around to dictators and so on what might happen to them if they attack the Org. Oh, of course. The Org itself lets them know."
He waved a finger in the air as if making a checkmark on a list. "Batting a hundred, little sister."
They sat for a time, enjoying the breeze and the sights. Then Rickie spoke up again.
"One last fact. Maybe the strangest of all. According to legend Whores never get sick. In any way. No colds, no cancer, no VD. They don't even get pregnant...although I suppose that doesn't count as a disease. Nor do their children or spouses when they get out of the business. No Alzheimer's or juvenile Alzheimer's."
He peered over at her at that last, since she was the one who had found a cure for juvenile Alzheimer's.
The implications were staggering. A cure for EVERY disease? That would be really strange. Cancer alone was at least a hundred different diseases. Science had long ago given up on finding THE cure for cancer.
But she did know a cure for every disease. Her. She could lay her hands on people and cure them. Or more correctly inject messages into people's bodies telling their bodies to cure themselves.
Did the Org include shapechangers still? Like the Cat Lady and the Grey Lady her brother had spoken of earlier. And if they were real, the killer he had labeled Fireboy was real, or others like him. Were there factions among the shapechangers? And would someone from them contact her some day? Or try to kill her?
"Do they really never get sick?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But they do have connections to one do-gooder organization, the only philanthropy they practice. The Athenaeum Society encourages public hygiene like garbage disposal and purifying drinking water, educates people on basic medical prevention like tooth-brushing and washing your hands, and gives free medical care to desperately poor people. They have their own doctors, though they're not called that and they're only licensed for basic prophylaxis—"
"My, my. What big words you have, Grandma."
He grinned. "And they encourage medical doctors to give one day of free service at the free clinics. Like lawyers and their pro-bono service. 'Give back to the community' and all that."
She sat up and turned to look at him. "So you think their ' doctors' administer some kind of cure-all. Damn, Rick, I'm a biologist. There just can't be a cure-all. People who claim that are con men, pure and simple."
"But they don't claim anything. If they have a secret miracle drug only their own people get it."
"Yeah. Hmm. They'd be swamped if anyone found out about it. Or sued out of existence."
"Or taken over by the government."
"But where would this cure-all come from? Deepest darkest Africa?"
He grinned. "You found yours in a snake-bite in Borneo."
He sobered, said "It came from Mary McCarthy. I've done some research, and that's my best guess."
She repeated the name. It rang a bell. She sat upright and slung her feet to the floor. His closest hand flashed to snag one of her wrists but her unhuman reflexes automatically made her body evade his hand and snag his instead, then instantly release it.
"Sit back. No need to get on the InterWeb. I told you I've already researched all that." She complied and he continued.
"Mary McCarthy was a best friend of Mary Boole. You know, the woman who—"
"We read about her in our Women's History class back in college. She invented the telephone and the telephone exchange and kick-started the Irish Industrial Revolution."
"Yeah. McCarthy was the first woman doctor in the British Empire. She even got a license to practice. Which was a Goddamned miracle. Unless the Org was behind her. She was a certified genius. Wrote a paper theorizing about the biochemistry of genetics decades before they discovered DNA. Practiced medicine, mostly surgery, only one day a month. But never lost a patient.
"And she may have given Boole the idea for the telephone by talking about the neural basis of hearing and speech. After all, a telephone and telephone exchange is just a mechanical ear and mouth connected by wires that go through a really simple mechanical brain."
Sylvia said, "The history text we had in class gave credit for the invention to her husband. George Boole was a certified genius too. Wrote a book with Alfred North Whitehead and Bertrand Russell about the basis of all math. Mathematica Universuum? Something like that. Which led to computers."
"Which are like telephone exchanges. Or mechanical brains. Doesn't it make sense that biological analogies would more likely come from a physician than a mathematician?"
She ran a hand through her hair, disarranging it. Then reflexively rearranged it, something she would never do in public, catching herself too late. But luckily her brother had not noticed her hair moving all by itself.
"Wow," she said. "The history professor didn't catch that. You're not—"
They grinned at each other as they said in unison "—not as dumb as you look."
"I dug up more evidence of McCarthy's influence. You remember Sir Robert Kane? Father of the Irish Industrial Revolution? He had a genius wife, too. A botanist. Wrote a basic text under a pen-name when she was something like twenty, before she met Kane. She—"
"I'm a biologist, remember? I know all about Katherine Kane. She hybridized, discovered, whatever, rubber trees that would grow in Ireland. Also a variety of gorse, which is a quick-growing plant that crowds out other plants, that is purple and gives a resin useful as electrical insulation. Before that gorse was a weed to a lot of Irishmen.
"But her most important discovery was that a fungus was the cause of those potato famines. Insecticide kills it easily, but some of the cures are almost as bad as the disease. She discovered safe insecticides.
"You think McCarthy might have been behind these women?"
He thought about that a moment, shook his head. "These ladies were smart before they ever met McCarthy. Maybe McCarthy gave them pushes here and there, but they earned their reputations. But if anyone came up with a medical miracle it was McCarthy. But I don't think there is one. Just some very smart people using the very latest medical advances."
Sylvia got up and half-sat, half-leaned on the openwork parapet, looking at her brother.
"I wonder how I'd go about meeting these Org people? Maybe join a branch of the Athenaeum Society? Maybe there's one here on P'Rico."
He looked alarmed. "Dumb-ass. These are really dangerous people!"
"And I'm—"
"Yeah. Yeah. You're really dangerous people too."
He got up and walked inside the apartment.
"Let's go look at spaceships and dolphins."
Chapter 19 - Revelation
Sylvia dressed for the beach in a bikini but put on over it a loose summer dress printed with bright green, red, and yellow leaves; they would be visiting other areas before the beach. She slipped on sandals with medium-height heels and grabbed a bag of items she often wanted at the beach. From her fridge she took two plastic bottles of water, one for each of them.
Her brother came out of his bedroom in worn blue jeans and a white tee with a formerly black but now grey Miami Police Academy emblem on the front and back. Worn but bright red tennies adorned his feet. He caught her placing the water bottles in her bag.
"Good idea. We'll need those soon."
"We can get more at the spaceship hangar and the beach if we need
them. Ah, did you bring a bathing suit?"
"Didn't think I'd need it."
"We'll pick up one on the way."
They also picked up, briefly, several women the sea monster knew by sight and name. The monster introduced Rickie but only by his first name. If they assumed he was taken that was alright by her. He thanked her after the second obviously predatory woman.
"God, where are the retiring maidenly Latin women?"
"You're from Miami. You ought to know the answer; there arn't any. Anyway, most of these are Argentine women. They consider themselves Europeans."
They walked down the main street toward the south, Sylvia a bit proudly showing off all the modern stores. In a clothing store with a decidedly youthful bent he bought a trunk-style swimsuit, making Sylvia rethink her swimsuit choice: a bikini made up of three small triangles. This was popular with younger Boricua and women in Miami and probably appreciated by her brother—on women other than his sister. So she bought a suit with a sports bra top and a bottom that covered her bottom. Somewhat further on they bought a snorkel and swim fins for Rickie.
All set for the beach, she led him to the nearest auto tram site. The werecreature examined the posted schedule.
"Hmm. We'll have to wait fifteen minutes for the next cart. You want to walk to the hangar? Or run?"
"Run? With those heels? You'll kill yourself."
She slipped her sandals off. It had been a stupid choice for the beach. She had only been thinking of making a better impression at the spaceship hangar.
"No, I won't. Let's go."
"No. The concrete will kill your feet, and any little rock will cut those tender tootsies."
She laughed. "My feet are tougher than boots, Riki Tiki. Come on." And she was off at a leisurely jog she could keep up for hours or even days on end. When he caught up with her she stepped up the pace to a fast jog. At first he kept a sharp eye on her but soon seemed to mentally shrug and began to enjoy the view around them.
At one point an automatic passenger cart trundled out of a side street. Sylvia veered to catch up and stepped aboard. The carts moved at a fast walking pace and it was easy. At the main street the cart turned south and they had an easy ride for one block. When it turned into a cross street they dropped off. Then near the edge where residences replaced stores they caught up to an express auto cart, swung aboard, and sat.
"Pretty nice places."
Sylvia nodded, looking at the houses from eyes freshened by his presence.
"They offered me one if I'd sign a long-term contract. But I wanted to keep my options open."
Where the residences trailed off the view was unobstructed all along the island, about half a mile wide and another two and a half miles to the south end. The spaceship barn was about a mile further along to their right. Its true size began to be apparent.
Their elevation was low enough that they could see the dark blue ocean on all sides, glints coming off it to the west as the sun sank in that direction. All about them was brown grass spotted with short grey-green bushes. Some of the area was beginning to be landscaped but it would be many years before all of it became green and beautiful.
"Let's run. I know a shortcut."
"Your feet..."
"They'll be fine."
A hundred feet along the side of the road Sylvia said without breaking stride, "This is part of that big secret. Keep up, now."
She plunged into the ankle high grass away from the road. It would scratch a human's ankles bloody shortly and the stubble stab holes in the bottoms of her feet. It did nothing to Sylvia but prickle slightly.
She ran moderately fast here. Rickie kept up easily but stayed a few yards back so that he could watch her. Once she veered to the side and leaped over a waist-high bush, then veered back in line with him. Coming down from such a jump should have injured her bare feet badly.
When they reached the access road leading up to the front of the hangar she stopped and took her shoes out of her bag. She stood balanced on first one foot then the other to slip on the shoes, implicitly showing her brother both her ankles and the soles of her feet. They showed not the slightest scratch or puncture wound.
He was very quiet as they approached the vehicle gate into the high fenced enclosure with barbed wire on top. The sea monster took her badge out of her bag which she normally used to buzz into the compound. This time she walked through the gate with her brother.
Inside the guard shack she lay her badge on the chest-high shelf that separated the gate guard from visitors. Rickie put his driver's license beside it. After a glance at her badge the guard handed it back to her. She clipped it to her collar. The guard picked up her brother's ID and entered his name and address in a registry after a quick but keen comparison of the picture with her brother's face. Then the guard handed it and a numbered badge to him. Rickie clipped the badge to the neck of his tee shirt and replace his license in his wallet.
"Have a good day, Doctor. Sir."
Concrete completely surrounded the huge hangar and the several buildings on all sides of it. Sylvia went directly to a door labeled AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and used her badge to buzz herself and her brother into the hangar. Down a long hall she passed through another door into a public area, nicely carpeted in pale green and with sofas arranged around a low table with a few magazines on it. Sylvia spoke in English to a secretary at a desk.
"Hi, Patsy. We're still having regular tours?"
"For two more days. But you can always give private ones."
"This is my brother in from Miami." She introduced the two and they shook hands, the secretary wishing him a good stay before she turned back to a computer screen.
The next room was large enough for two dozen people on a tour. She gave him a shortened version of a tour she sometimes gave, first showing him pictures of space industry with the arrow-shaped spaceship being loaded or off-loaded at a space dock. Tethered astronauts floated around the ship, overseeing the cargo sliding on rails into and out of the ship, bright sunlight outside atmosphere giving shadows sharp edges on the sides of suits, ship, and space station .
Then she explained how the ship re-entered the atmosphere over the Pacific flying east, crossed into the Caribbean sea just south of Mexico, and landed in the water a hundred miles or so to the west of Puerto Rico. For visuals she pointed out a trajectory map and photos of the spaceship splashing down and being towed.
"Sounds like you've done this before."
"Two or three times a month I sign up to give a group tour. It's part of my job. Be a celebrity associated with ArgenSpace."
He grinned and Sylvia relaxed just a little. He had been awfully solemn until now. "Still hard to think of my little sister being a celebrity."
She poked his arm. "Your older sister."
From the large room they entered a long hall with a view of the spaceship protected from viewers by heavy fracture-proof windows. The giant arrow floated with its thick delta wings mostly out of the water. At least a dozen men and women could be seen working on it or on platforms on the edge of the pool. All wore light blue coveralls with yellow hard helmets.
Her brother took in a deep breath and slowly let it out from ballooning cheeks.
"It's a big sonofabitch, isn't it?"
"Length of a football field. Or soccer field, as the Argentines would say."
They strolled along the entire length of the gallery.
"Want to see inside?"
"Could I? Damn right."
"Let's see if we're lucky."
They were. A friend of hers was in. She had been over to his house for dinner with his family several times. He answered her request in English for her brother's sake.
"Of course, querida mia . Come on." He grabbed a yellow hard hat from a hat rack and led the way down a set of stairs, along a hall, then up a set of stairs. At the entrance to the hangar proper was a dressing and shower room with spare helmets hanging on hooks. The two of them found helmets that fit and followed her friend through th
e door. On the other side they entered a long extensible metal walkway that swayed a little at their progress, though not enough to require them to put hands on the waist-high railing on each side.
At the edge of the hatch Rickie stopped, looked toward their guide, and gestured at the side of the spaceship. "Can I touch it?"
"Sure. If vacuum and re-entry heat doesn't hurt you sure can't."
Reverently her brother touch the metal skin, caressed it. A grin spread on his face. "Man, oh, man, won't the guys back at work be jealous when I tell them."
His sister bumped him in the back. "They'll envy you even more when you tell them you sat in the cockpit."
Inside the ship the former space pilot showed them along a hall, pointing out the rounded hand holds all along the way.
"You'll notice how this hallway is only six and a half feet high and wide. That's so you'll have a handhold in easy reach in free fall. In larger work areas you usually have a tether, or a tether nearby. If worst comes to worst and you get stranded in the middle of the room you can take off a shoe and throw it opposite to where you want to go. That will propel you to a handhold. But it does take some skill to do that. You have to make sure you throw exactly away from your center of gravity. Otherwise all throwing does is start you spinning."
On the way to the cockpit the man showed various workstations, such as the one for internal cargo view and control, the engine room, and electronics-control backup.
"Most functions have back up and here—" he opened one last door. "Here we have triple back up for external view. There are two sets of cameras and a physical port hole if both those fail. That's behind this panel. I can't show you that, however.
"And here are the pilot and co-pilot seats."
Rickie looked on in consternation. Both seats were sized for smaller people.
The astronaut laughed. "They resize. Here. I'll change both to suit you."
He sat down in one seat and then the other, opening a panel in each seat arm and punching some buttons. Both seats re-conformed and the siblings sat in them. They didn't fit perfectly, but good enough for Rickie to move his hands near various controls as if flying the ship.