by neetha Napew
“I have?”
Dorothy smiled. “More than you might think. I do apologize for besieging you after what has been a very difficult day but we needed this input.” She held up the notes. “We can design appropriate treatment now.
In so far as our resources permit, that is.”
Zainal opened the door, and they stepped into a moonlit night.
“Over here, Dorothy,” Chuck said, flipping on the runabout’s light.
“Oh, thank you, and thank you again, Zainal, Kris.” She hurried over to the little vehicle, murmuring her thanks to Mitford before she turned it northward.
“I’ve one of the flatbeds and there’s room on the boxes for you two to ride back to your place,” Chuck said. “Don’t want any night crawlers grabbing you.”
“Thanks, Chuck,” Kris said, only too grateful for both the offer and the sentiment. She was really dragging with weariness right now. Sitting down for a spell had not been as good an idea as it had seemed. It only emphasized her fatigue.
“Over here,” and Chuck reached the flatbed and turned on its light to guide them.
Kris was already climbing on the cargo before she realized that the boxes didn’t resemble anything she had purchased on Barevi.
“What’s all this, sarge?” She couldn’t see the printed labels in the dim light.
“It’s the books we found,” Zainal astonished her by saying.
“Books?”
“Yes, books,” Zainal repeated calmly. “Ray saw them. As trading captain of the KDI, I thought such paper stuff would be good for packing material.”
He grinned. “The Drassi did not argue, glad to be rid of the stuff.”
“But there must be fifty boxes here? They’re not all the same book, are they?”
“Nope,” Chuck said. “Catteni looted libraries, too. We’ve got some former librarians just drooling to catalog what we managed to ‘liberate.” This is only part of what we unloaded. Our kids won’t grow up ignorant, though they might have some rather interesting gaps in their education.”
“Books,” Kris said and suddenly realized that she had missed books...
certainly the availability of books. “Wow! That was a real coup:’
“Books?” Zainal asked. “Schoolbooks?” His tone was sly though Kris could not see his expression in the dim light. “Bi-ol-o-gy?”
“Don’t know yet,” Chuck said, “though that’s a possibility. Why?”
“Zainal has just acquired a need to know,” Kris replied drolly. Oh, well, she’d had good grades in biology though just how much human biology would expand Zainal’s understanding of how his body worked was a moot point. And she was too tired to inquire.
All three were silent for the rest of the journey.
Once Zainal closed the door behind them, Kris gave up the notion of a shower as being too much work and a ruse to keep her from getting horizontal, and asleep, as soon as she could make it to the bed. She did take her boots off, as Zainal was doing, but that was all she managed.
THE K-CLASS SHIP, which arrived at bay forty-five to collect a shipment of slaves for an ice planet’s mining operation was furious to discover that someone else had taken them. The Drassi lodged a protest about that, and then another one that he had been forced to wait eight days before sufficient slaves could be assembled. So insignificant a report went unread.
The costs submitted against a ship with a KDI identification code were duly registered although it was later noted that this ship had supposedly been listed as “lost.”The charges were paid and the anomaly forgotten.
Chapter Two.
IT SHOULDN’T HAVE SURPRISED KRIS that by the next afternoon many people were aware of the substance of their discussion with Dorothy Dwardie. Rumor circulated the settlement as fast as a Farmer orbiter.
Fortunately, it worked more in favor of Zainal than against him.
The Catteni were, however briefly, also seen as Victims of Eosian tactics, more to be pitied than feared.
A quintet of anthropologists, while loudly deploring the forced evolution of the Catteni, requested most politely for Zainal to take some tests to evaluate his “stimulated” intelligence.
Kris was furious and Zainal amused. In fact, Kris was so incensed that she was even mad at him for agreeing.
“They cannot do me any harm,” Zainal said in his attempt to placate her.
“It’s the whole idea of the thing... as if you were no better than a laboratory mouse or rat or monkey,” she said, pacing about the house while her mate and her son regarded her with surprise.
“They are also testing the Deski and the Rugarians.” He grinned at her.
“I would like to know how I rate.”
“How can they possibly evaluate you fairly? In the first place,” she
said, waving her arms about as she paced, “lots of the questions require
a similar cultural background . . . and history and things you’ve
never had a chance to study:’
“So?” Zainal reached out and stopped her mid-stride as she was going past him. “You are annoyed for me? Or with me?” he asked at his gentlest, a gleam in his yellow eyes.
“With them! The nerve, the consummate gall”’ and she tried to struggle out of his embrace.
“Sometimes, Kristin Bjornsen, you protect me when I do not need it;’ he
said, smoothing her hair back from her face. “As you would Zane:’
“Nonsense;’ Kris snapped, trying to push him away. “You don’t know when to be insulted. I am insulted. For you.”
Zainal laughed and easily resisted her attempts to break free.
“It is difficult to insult an Emassi;’ he said. “I think it is better for them to find out that I am very, very smart. It will solve other problems.”
That mild remark stopped her struggling.
“What problems?” she demanded, suspicious.
“The ones I must solve.”
“Which are?”
“How to free us . . .” and he gestured himself and then to her, “and
your people from the Eosi:’
“But we need the Farmers’ help for that and we have no idea when we’ll have a response—if any—to that report you sent them. What are you planning, Zainal?”
“This time you, too, must wait and see,” he said, giving her a final squeeze before he released her. And she got no more out of him.
He went off to the session with the anthropologists while she fumed and fretted as she did the household chores. She was not due for her shift until late afternoon. She couldn’t even find satisfaction in taking care of Zane, which she usually enjoyed thoroughly. She all but pounced on Zainal when he returned a few hours later.
“Well?” she demanded as soon as he entered the cabin.
His grin was a partial reassurance but she insisted on details. “They say I am very smart. At the top.”
“How could they figure that out? What did they ask? How did you reply?”
“Carefully”’ he said, pouring himself a cup of water. “Thirsty work.”
Kris let out an explosive “oh” of total frustration. “You’d drive a saint to drink.”
“Saint? More of that God stuff?”
“What sort of questions?” She would not be diverted.
“Logic ones which I am well able to answer. Sorrell told me that they used some of the Mensa tests? That you would know what those are?”
Kris nodded, obliquely reassured. “And?”
“I passed;’ he said and then bent to lift the lid on the pot over the fire.
“We eat here tonight?”
“Yes, it’s the stew you like. How high did you pass?”
Zainal’s grin was malicious. “Very high. They were surprised and...”
he paused to let his grin broaden, “they were respectful.”
“Well, it’s about time.”
He turned and put his arms about her, drawing her close to him so that
he could look
her in the eyes. “One earns respect. It is not just
given:’
“But you’ve earned it twenty times over, Zanal,” she said, not quite willing to be totally placated by his proximity but she did let her arms creep around his neck. “When I think of how lucky we were that you got dropped...”
“I was very lucky,” he said, burrowing his head in her hair. “Very lucky;’ They remained in that embrace, enjoying the simple pleasure of touching and being together until Zane, waking from his afternoon nap, disturbed their communion.
“So, what have you been planning in that devious stimulated Catteni mind of yours?” Kris asked.
“I think we have to go to Earth,” he said so casually that she nearly dropped her son.
“Just like that? Go to Earth? How? Why? Can you? Will they agree?”
“It is safer right now than it will be...” he began, taking Zane from her to dandle on his knee, which had the boy chortling with delight, while she tasted the stew.
“Oh?” The stew needed a pinch more salt, which she added.
“Yes, because it will take time for the Eosi to discover that the Victims did not get to the intended destination. They will also be thinking of a way to break through the Bubble. They do not like such defenses.”
“So? What good would a trip to Earth do?”
“Now I think there may be other Catteni, who have had enough Eosi,” and he grinned at her. “I am not the only one who thinks for himself.
Who is smarter than the Eosi want us to be. I know of five who are like me. I need to know where they now are. I need to know if there are more now)’
“Five? Against how many Eosi?”
Zainal considered as he tickled Zane’s toes while the little boy giggled, withdrawing his feet and then presenting them again.
“I think there are no more than one hundred.”
“Because that’s all the Catteni they upgraded? Don’t they reproduce or something?”
Zainal shook his head. “Not that we know of.”
“We?”
“The others of like mind I told you about. We have met, in small groups, from time to time, to exchange knowledge)’
“You mean, you’ve been plotting against the Eosi for a long time?
What would have happened if you had to be subsumed?”
“A risk all Emassi take,” he said with a shrug. “Yes, I do believe that we have been looking for some way to shake Eosian domination. Your people have shown a resistance no other species has. That’s good)’
“As far as it goes and look what happens to Humans who resist...”
and Kris’s gesture included the planet. “How many worlds do the Eosi dom-Mate?
I mean, there’re the Deski, the Rugarians, the Turs, the Morphins, and the Ilginish... How many others?”
“The Eosi control fifteen star systems that have at least one intelligent race: another ten where they take metals and materials.”
Kris laughed. “You honestly believe a rebellion has a chance against such a setup?”
“If we have the Farmers’ help...”
“Boy, oh boy, oh boy, are you an optimist!”
“It is a start. It is more than we have ever had.”
“With two spaceships and a scout, we can go up against that sort of opposition?”
“it is a start.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Zainal. God loves a trier,” Kris said, shaking her head at the impossible task he had proposed. And yet... “Have you mentioned any of this to any one else yet?”
“I talked to Chuck. I will speak to others. We need to go to Earth as soon as possible. Earth needs to know that Botany is!”
“Let’s eat first, shall we?” Kris said as brightly as she could, trying to assimilate the magnitude of his vision.
DOROTHY DWARDIE’S TEAM spent the first week assessing the condition of the mind-wiped and divided them into various arbitrary groupings, according to the perceived severity.
As she said in her initial discussion with her aides, there were two levels of healing: one, the physical trauma of assault on the tissue and/or function of the brain, and two, the psychological trauma of assault on the psyche or self. She expected that some trauma would be time-limited.
“The mind has gone into functional frostbite,” she said, “and when it thaws after the trauma, returns to normal function without help. Since most of these people were trained scientists, it’s possible that many will sim ply reestablish old neural pathways. There may be some loss of factual memory: maybe even a great deal. Even then much may return over a period of time.
“Right now, they need reassurance, interaction: music, smells, kindness, encouragement, gentle exercise. As normal a routine as we can manage.
Talk to them, about anything and everything: help them reestablish themselves.
Where we know the name, repeat it often. When we know something of their background, refer to that as frequently as possible. Help them reacquaint themselves with themselves.”
Kris had three women, all in their late fifties: two had been research physicians in a drug company—Peggy Ihde and Marjorie Flax; the third they called Sophie because Sarah McDouall said she thought she looked like a Sophie. Kris was to supervise their meals. Just putting a spoon or a fork in their hands stimulated self-feeding. She read to them from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, which they might even have read in their younger days. She took them on quiet walks in the lodge-pole copse, or sat with them above the bay where benches had been placed for meditation.
“Pleasant surroundings are extremely important after the holding pens they’ve been in,” Dorothy said. “Soft, kind voices, gentle handling will reassure even the most damaged.”
There were a few whose condition was clearly catatonic but Dorothy was serenely confidant that, in time, even these would recover.
“There’s something about this place,” she said, spreading both arms out to include the entire subcontinent, “that will generate healing. The smells are good, the food is fresh and tasty, and the vibes ...” she smiled at using the vernacular description, “are good because we’ve made them so. Beauty is a natural stress-absorber, you know. It reassures on a nonverbal level that they are now safe.
“You see,” she went on in her soft voice, “we’ve decided to use a multi-modal treatment of this stress. The right hemisphere—which thinks in pictures—can’t tell time: therefore it needs pictures to counteract the negative images of the trauma. The left hemisphere stores rational thought processes in thought and ideas. The two hemispheres interact and each approach can help the other side. We need to maximize good input and involve as much as possible in terms of brain resource utilization. Many of our friends here may never recall exactly what happened. That would truly be a blessing.”
“But won’t we have to explain something of how they got here?” Sarah McDouall asked.
“Oh, yes,” Dorothy said with a smile, “and by then we’ll probably have a coherent answer for them. They are, to all intents and purposes, on a holiday from their own minds right now.”
“We could always tell them they’re in Oz,” someone at the back of the room quipped.
“And no red slippers in sight,” someone added.
Dorothy’s expression was droll. “We’re all in Oz.”
“The Eosi are the wicked witches...”
“Let’s leave the analogy there, shall we?” Dorothy said in the firm tone of she-who-must-be-obeyed.
Kris felt her shoulder muscles relax. She had been readying herself to protect Zainal. Really, she had to stop doing that. He had made his own position here on Botany and was firmly entrenched. She didn’t need to fret over possible snide remarks and animosity. She devoutly hoped!
THAT EVENING WHEN ZAINAL CAME HOME from the construction site of the new units for the Victims, he very carefully put a book down on the table.
“That’s for kindergartners,” she said in surprise, recognizing the title.
“Kinder
gartners? It is for learning to read,” Zainal said and gave it a little shove with one large and very dirty thumb.
“Please wash up, dinner’s nearly ready,” she said, because she really couldn’t tell Zainal not to handle the book-which might be the only one of its kind-with his dirty hands.
“I learn to read,” he said and gave it another, almost angry push.
“You?”
Zainal scowled and Zane, who was seated in the high-seated chair his adoptive father had made for him, began to whimper in apprehension. He was very quick to sense moods. Immediately Zainal turned a smiling face and diverted the child by tickling his feet until he was hilarious with tickle laughter.
“I need to read to use computers.”
Kris blinked in surprise, having forgotten for the moment that Botany now possessed working computers... which were being put to all kinds of good use. There had been several uninterrupted sessions to develop adapters for the units to run on solar power.
“Oh, yes, of course you would,” Kris said. “Dead easy for a man with your smarts.”
Zainal turned his smiling face from Zane and gave the little book a dark scowl. “Not when all those... squiggles... make no sense at all.”
“Are there many—“ and Kris thought swiftly for a less insulting description than “kids’ books”—“primer books in what we got?” She hadn’t had occasion to look in that section of the hastily assembled “library.”
“This was given me. I wash my hands... and Zane’s feet...” he added pointing to the oily smears now marking the child’s bare feet.
ONCE ZANE WAS IN BED, she took, not the book, but a pad and pencil and wrote out the alphabet in upper and lower case, as large as she could lengthwise across the page.
“But I brought the book to read.. :’ he said, pulling it toward him with now clean hands.
“First you must know the... squiggles that spell the words we use. Too bad we didn’t have a book on English for second-language speakers... although come to think of it, that wouldn’t do you much good. Now, this is the first letter of the alphabet ... ‘ay.” Which can also be pronounced ‘ah’... just to confuse you. It is a vowel. B, which is usually just ‘bee’ is the second letter and a consonant.”