by MadMaxAU
Waiting? Saul thought. Was that what I was doing?
Highlights in the Japanese physician’s glossy black hair shone like Mount Asahi’s glaciers as he fussed over the tea, commenting on the difficulty of boiling water properly in low gravity, what with weakened convection and all. To Saul, the man’s voice was one with the rustling pines.
“I will now pour,” Akio intoned, and lifted the cups delicately.
Saul was not in a hurry to get to business. When the ceremony was finished, and the tea poured, they gossiped over inconsequential matters—the latest fashion in mathematical philosophy on Earth, and the strange propositions being put forward by the Marxist theologians of Kiev. The journals had been full of it, and they both wondered aloud what Nicholas Malenkov would have made of it all.
Akio seemed in much better health now. He had been one of Saul’s first volunteers to take an early version of the retailored cyanutes. It was that or lose him permanently to the infection tearing away at his liver. Now the sickly yellow pallor was gone. He had regained weight. Soon he would even quit using the mechanical endocrine rebalancer that had been keeping him alive.
Saul was very pleased to see his friend healthy and spry again.
I was able to help Virginia, and Marguerite, and Akio. Maybe, later, we can do something for Lani and Betty Oakes, and so many others.
Memory of Miguel Cruz was still a sharp pain. More than anyone else, their commander was needed. But there were limits to what Saul ever expected to be able to do, no matter how lucky he was.
Akio Matsudo put down his cup and carefully removed his glasses to polish them. “Saul, my friend, forgive my bluntness. But I think that perhaps I should explain why I asked you here today. I believe that now it is time for you to go into the slots.”
Saul put down his cup. Akio raised his hands.
“Before you protest, please allow me to explain. There are many, many reasons.”
He raised one finger. “First Watch was supposed to last only a little over a year. The colony’s anniversary is this month. And you were one of the few civilians awake for the entire trip out, on the Edmund. You are losing lifespan. It is unfair to you, who have less of it to spare than the youngsters outside.”
Saul snorted. “What is this, Akio? We may have passed through the worst part, but the staffing nightmare isn’t over yet. With all the people we’ve had to pull, term slot, and even vac-store out on the surface, it’s clear the shifts will have to be longer than planned. You know that argument’s a load of crap.”
Matsudo winced at Saul’s bluntness.
“Yesss.” His agreement sounded more like a suppressed hiss of disapproval. “Perhaps. But I must tell you that Bethany Oakes made me promise, before she herself was slotted, that you would be put away if your symptoms grew worse.”
“They aren’t any worse,” Saul grumbled. “It’s just another bad cold. I think it’s still a leftover from one of your damn challenge viruses. I can tell by the way it tickles before I sneeze.”
He knew better, of course. There was comet stuff inside him, from viroids to latent bacteroids. Some of the variants did not use the Halley sugar complex, and so were doubtless invulnerable to his new silver bullets.
And I’m older than mast. Could be that makes me more vulnerable.
For a moment the contemplative daze threatened to return. The conversation had reminded him of a weird sensation he had had, a few days ago, on examining a sample of his own blood . . . a feeling that something . . .
He shook his head. No. This is . . . He searched for a Yiddish expression and failed. Bullshit. Good old Anglo Saxon bullshit. That’s the only word for it.
“There is a second major reason.” Matsudo squeezed and covered another cup of sharp, yellow brown tea for each of them. “Because of the mutiny, this year’s desperate effort will be to build greenhouses on the surface, and farms down in chamber Tau. The hydroponics pod from the Edmund must be kept alive until new food production facilities are set up. That is why Evans is being thawed now—he is the best of all the expedition ecologists, and Svatuto is coming out of the slots as his backup.”
Saul noted Matsudo’s pained expression flickering when he had to mention the Edmund. Even more to be avoided was any mention of the Newburn. In all the time since the mutineers had departed, not once had Saul heard anybody utter the name of the lost slot tug, now apparently completely out of reach and growing more distant with every passing day. It was an utterly taboo subject.
“Yes? So it’ll be good to consult with Evans. There are some matters concerning the origin of Halley lifeforms that an ecologist can help with. I’m not certain I can accept the old explanation any longer.”
Akio looked out over the scene of sunset on the Western Sea. The clouds had turned orange and black, breathlessly beautiful.
“You misunderstand me, Saul. This means we will have more medical people awake than is proper in the long run, over forty shifts. Svatuto is a better clinician than you are, anyway. You know that, Saul.”
Saul shrugged. “That’s why I went into research,” he said, reaching for his handkerchief. “Can’t . . . can’t stand sick people.” The room wavered. Saul shook his head vigorously. Then he turned aside and sneezed.
Matsudo jumped slightly, and finally smiled. “Nobody does that so dramatically. It is that Semitic profundity of a nose, I suppose. Seriously, Saul, that is another reason. Forgive me, but you disrupt everything. People fear your noisy, drippy symptoms, even as they respect your genius. Lieutenant Colonel Ould Harrad and others think that it would be best for everybody if you should rest for a while.”
Saul shook his head. “I just now realized, you’re actually serious about this, Akio. Right when my work is . . .” He stopped, unable to find words for how well things were going in the lab.
Then there was also Virginia. Her love is the best thing that’s happened to me in ten years.
The tentative, simulated telempathy they shared through her daring, unconventional biocybernetics was as exciting in its own fashion as his work in bioengineering. They were both accomplishing things that would shake up half a dozen disciplines! Why, over, just the last week he had received messages from crusty old Wallin, at Oxford, and even aloof, above it all Tang in Peking ....
“This is in no way to detract from your accomplishments,” Matsudo said quickly, trying to soothe Said. “You have, in fact, achieved wonders, wonders! I find your methods unnerving, as well you know, but I cannot argue with success. If any of us survive, it will be in no small measure thanks to you.”
Saul shook his head. “There’s more to be done! We have to see if the procedures— “
“And I insist that you underrate your success!” the tall Japanese hissed.
Akio must have been severely agitated. This was the first time in Saul’s experience that he had ever interrupted anybody. The man looked quickly aside. “Excuse me, please. But I have done simulations, and Earth Control concurs. The larger Halleyform organisms—the purples especially—can be kept in check using ultraviolet and your new microwave beamers. The fungoids are now under control using more precise versions of both techniques.”
“And the diseases?”
“The diseases fall off dramatically in nearly everyone who has received your new cyanutes. Tests show there are few actual cures, but the advantage has been given back to the human body’s immune system.”
“So— “
“So your techniques will hold the line! People will fall ill, true. Some will even die—but at a far, far slower rate.”
Then Akio did something quite rare. He looked Saul directly in the eyes.
“I am in awe of your power, Saul Lintz,” he confessed softly. “Another reason you must be slotted is that we simply cannot afford to lose you. There are three decades ahead until the hard work of aphelion. A greater period afterwards. There will be more crises. New, adapted bacteroids and viroids. Please think of yourself as our secret weapon, our reserve against all con
tingencies.”
His eyes were pleading, asking Saul to accept, and not to inflict any more of his Occidental directness against something that was already decided.
He’s holding something back, Saul realized. Politics? Orders from Earth?
Virginia had spliced press clips for him, over the two months since the mutiny. He had been too busy to more than glance at the news blurbs, but apparently some elements in the media were making celebrities of two particular members of the Halley Expedition.
Carl Osborn and me. We’re the latest sensations, back there.
DOC HALLEY DAY AND WYATT PERCELL . . . BATTLING CREEPY
BUGS AND BUGGY CREW . . .
Could it be that the powers back home can’t afford to have this popular image last too long? Both an augmented person and a former collaborator of Simon Percell in the headlines?
Oh, what a laugh! I sought obscurity and safety out in space—and find neither!
Matsudo looked away again. Saul knew, then, that this was a matter decided far above, and there would be no use inflicting protests on his uncomfortable friend.
He had seen simulations better than Matsudo’s—prepared in stochastic logic by JonVon to his own models. Matsudo was right. Things were indeed getting better…or at lest they would slip downhill more slowly for the foreseeable future. Saul had hoped that it would mean more time to study—to really study—what was going on here.
There was more to all of this than a life or death struggle between colonists and native organisms. Much, much more, and he wanted to find out about it.
But how does one fight city hall?
Maybe I could persuade Virginia to desert with me, into the tunnels. We’ll graze on green stuff; like Ingersoll. Raid the animal lockers and thaw some sheep to raise. Maybe plant sorghum down on the south forty and tell the universe to go to hell.
The ridiculous image made him smile, in spite of himself.
“I must have three months.” He began the inevitable bargaining. “There are experiments to finish, and I’ve got to brief Svatuto. Also, Keoki and Marguerite need more training before I hand the lab over to them.”
Matsudo shook his head. “Two weeks. It is all I am willing to . . . all I can risk you further.”
Saul smiled. “I’ll have to write a training manual for future shifts—on handling the cyanutes and using the microwave disruptor . . . Eight weeks, minimum.”
After a long silence, Matsudo sighed in acquiescence. “I fear for you, Saul. But I am also selfish. I admit that it will be good to have you here for that much longer.”
The black haired immunologist looked out over the slopes of Mount Asahi. Sunset faded into a purpling night. Lowering clouds flickered with hints of thunder.
“Flesh is weak,” Akio Matsudo said softly, removing his glasses to polish them one more time. “And it is lonely without friends, where only the snow falls.”
VIRGINIA
June 2062
As she approached the sleep slot prep room one of her own poems—if indeed they deserve such a highfalutin’ name! —came rushing into her head.
Your musky hollows
Sand-colored, rutted skin
neatly fitted bones, calcium cage
to house a heart I enter,
and would devour
if only we had icy slow days.
I could rhyme
the tick of time,
frame elegant meals.
No springtime in Gehanna.
The long cold orbit out
could not cut the years
we have left.
Time’s fair gamble,
days not yet done.
Perhaps they’ll dwindle down
to none. But they will
see us entwining
together in the sun.
Okay, you’re brave enough to say it to JonVon. Now do it.
She slipped into the prep room. Saul already lay in the carrier beneath cool pale light, surrounded by cylinders and spheres of gleaming steel. Carl Osborn was helping Keoki Anuenue, the med-tech, work over him. The red nutrient webbing resembled a net of blood vessels projected through the skin, like a demonstration in school. Saul was still awake, though drowsy. His eyes followed her as she walked to his side. Fog curled in chilly fingers around her.
Carl glanced up. “Where the hell have you been! I’ve been listening to the comm. Just as I started, all the mechs went dead.”
“I know.”
“Oh, is it already fixed?”
“It will be, if I give the order,” she said precisely.
Carl blinked. “What’s that mean?”
“I shut them all down. And I won’t bring them back on line unless you and Ould Harrad honor my request.”
Anuenue kept attaching leads to Saul, oblivious, but Carl stopped and carefully put down his needle nose pliers. He stepped away, where the tech couldn’t hear. “You’re . . . threatening us?”
“Let’s call it a promise.”
“Promise! What the—?”
“Either let me slot now, or you won’t get any useful work out of me or the mechs.”
“That’s disobedience! Blackmail!”
“Call it anything you like. Just do it.” Virginia compressed her lips into a thin, pale line.
“We need you.”
“There are other programmers available—unslot one. And JonVon can take over a lot of functions. I’ve upgraded his capabilities.”
“No computer is as good as you.”
Good. Get him to argue rationally. “JonVon’s general organizing structures are better than mine. He also does higher order selfprogramming. That makes him very adaptable.”
“But your experience— “
“Listen, I’m not negotiating here. I’m demanding.”
Carl sighed and she saw that he was worn down. Not physically—his solid jaw and strong cheeks were ruddy with health, a welcome sight in these days—but mentally. Ould Harrad is a frustrating commander. Carl was the natural choice for exec officer, but it’s a relentless task being number two to a man like that. And I’m not making it any easier on him.
“You honestly think JonVon will work with another computer wizard? He’s your baby, after all.”
“I’ve instructed him to. I mandated it, using the old mission mainframe. Just as I’ve told him to keep the mechs dead until I give him the word.”
Carl said angrily, “So it is blackmail.”
“Call it a negotiating position.”
“You said you were demanding, not negotiating.”
A shrug. “Skip it. Slot me or else nothing gets done.”
Carl bristled and pointed a finger at Saul. “He put you up to this.”
“No. I never talked to him about it. I . . . decided on my own.”
Carl’s voice seemed squeezed, diminished. “You . . . love him that much?”
This was no time to care about anything except results. Carl’s face was reddening, his breathing getting faster. If he saw how unsteady she was, how much nerve it took to do this— “Of course. You’ve known that all along.”
Somehow this simple declaration blunted Carl’s building anger. “You . . . want to spend the same time in the slots?”
“We belong together.”
Carl shrugged again. “Damned nasty, shutting down the mechs this way.”
“I had to show I mean it. I don’t intend to live without Saul. Particularly since nobody really knows how much longer things will hold together here anyway.”
“We’ve got the diseases licked, Saul says.”
“Yes, for now. But what about long term effects? We’ve got to be sure we have able bodies for service decades from now. People who can come out of the slots in good condition, ready to work. Saul and I fit that description. You know we can survive.”
She played out the arguments just as she had rehearsed them. There were holes in them, of course, but she saw now that Carl in his disoriented state was vulnerable to her, unable to muster a coherent
objection. Perhaps he would, in fact, be glad to be rid of both her and Saul; their love was a continual irritant to him, she guessed.
Carl asked, “Keoki, could you get some more KleinTex solution from stock?” The tech nodded and left.
Carl seemed pensive, almost dazed.
“Carl . . . I know this is a hard time. . .”
He blinked, obviously struggling with inner conflicts. “You know, I never pay attention to the people around me . . . never know what they’re thinking . . . feeling.”
“No, that’s not true, you— “
“Lani, I never saw her,” he said bitterly. “I was so wrapped up in dreams about you. To see her going into the slots, that damned disease eating her up . . . I could’ve had some time with
“If you’d been a superman, yes,” she said patiently. “We’ve all been run ragged, Carl. You can’t blame yourself for not being all things to all people.”
He didn’t reply, just picked absently at the weave of nutrient tubes and sensor wires that covered Saul. Virginia watched his expression settle into one of sad reflection. He sighed, then looked into Saul’s relaxed face and asked, “You can understand?”
A nod.
“She’s coming with you.”
A slow smile. The lined skin around his eyes crinkled with unmistakable happiness.
She asked Carl, “His speech centers?”
“I can reconnect them if you want. Or call Matsudo, if you don’t trust my fumbling.”
She covered Carl’s hand tenderly, sorry that it had come to this. “No…don’t. I think we understand without speaking.”
Saul nodded.
Carl’s face was blank, numb. He looked from one to the other. Virginia felt pity for him, a man thrust too quickly into the center of events. She was sorry that she had been forced to do things this way. But there was no turning back.