“Who?” H-3 asked, almost innocently.
David couldn’t think of the name immediately. He stared at the young face, and he felt his fist tighten. “You know damn well who I mean. We need a doctor, and you have one or two in there. I’m going to bring one of them out.”
He became aware of movement and turned to see four more of them approaching, two girls, two boys. Interchangeable, he thought. It didn’t matter which ones did what. “Tell him I want him,” he said harshly. One of the newcomers was a C1-2, he realized, and still more harshly he said, “It’s Clarence. Sarah thinks his back is broken.”
C1-2 didn’t change his expression. They had moved very close. They encircled him, and behind him H-3 said, “As soon as they’re through in there, I’ll tell them, David.” And David knew there was nothing he could do, nothing at all.
He stared at their smooth young faces; so familiar, living memories every one of them, like walking through his own past, seeing his aged and aging cousins rejuvenated, but with something missing. Familiar and alien, known and unknowable. Behind H-3 the swinging door opened and W-l came out, still in surgical gown and mask, now down about his throat.
“I’ll come now,” he said, and the small group opened for him. He didn’t look at David after dismissing him with one glance.
David followed him to the emergency room and watched his deft hands as he felt Clarence’s body, tested for reflexes, probed confidently along the spinal column. “I’ll operate,” he said, and that same confidence came through with the words. He motioned for S-1 and W-2 to bring Clarence, and left once more.
Sarah had moved back out of the way, and now she slowly turned and stripped off the gloves she had put on in preparing to stitch up the leg wound. Warren watched the two young people cover Clarence, strap him securely, and wheel him out the door. No one spoke. Sarah methodically started to clean up the emergency-room equipment. Sarah finished her tasks and looked uncertainly about for something else to do.
“Will you take Margaret home and put her to bed?” David asked. She looked at him gratefully and nodded. When she was gone, David turned to Warren. “Someone has to see to the bodies, clean them up, prepare for burial.”
“Sure, David,” Warren said in a heavy voice. “I’ll get Avery and Sam. We’ll take care of it. I’ll just go get them now and we’ll take care of it. I’ll . . . David, what have we done?” And his voice that had been too heavy, too dead, became almost shrill. “What are they?”
“What do you mean?”
“When the accident happened, I was down to the mill. Having a bite with Avery. He was just finishing up down there. Section of the floor caved in, you know that old part where we should have put in a new floor last year, or year before. It gave way somehow. And suddenly there they were, the kids, out of nowhere. No one had time to go get them, to yell for them. Nothing, but there they were. They got their own two out of there and up to the hospital like their tails was on fire, David. Out of nowhere.”
Several of the elders were still in the waiting room when David went there. Lucy and Vernon were sitting near the window, staring out at the black night. Since Clarence’s wife had died, he and Lucy had lived together, not as man and wife, but for companionship, because as children they had been as close as brother and sister, and now each needed someone to cling to. Sometimes sister, sometimes mother, sometimes daughter, Lucy had fussed over him, sewed for him, fetched and carried for him, and now, if he died, what would she do? David went to her and took her cold hand. She was very thin, with dark hair that hadn’t started to gray, and deep blue eyes that had twinkled with merriment once, a long, long time ago.
“Go on home, Lucy. I’ll wait, and as soon as there is anything to tell you, I promise I’ll come.”
She continued to stare at him. David turned toward Vernon helplessly. Vernon’s brother had been killed in the accident, but there was nothing to say to him.
“Let her be,” Vernon said. “She has to wait.”
David sat down, still holding Lucy’s hand. After a moment or so she pulled it free gently and clutched it herself until both of her hands were white-knuckled. None of the young people came near the waiting room. David wondered where they were waiting to hear about the condition of their own. Or maybe they didn’t have to wait anywhere, maybe they would just know. He pushed the thought aside angrily, not believing it, not able to be rid of it. A long time later W-1 entered and said to no one in particular, “He’s resting. He’ll sleep until tomorrow afternoon. Go on home now.”
Lucy stood up. “Let me stay with him. In case he needs something, or there’s a change.”
“He won’t be left alone,” W-1 said. He turned toward the door, paused and glanced back, and said to Vernon, “I’m sorry about your brother.” Then he left.
Lucy stood undecided until Vernon took her arm. “I’ll see you home,” he said, and she nodded. David watched them leave together. He turned off the light in the waiting room and walked slowly down the hall, not planning anything, not thinking about going home, or anywhere else. He found himself outside the office that W-1 used, and he knocked softly. W-1 opened the door. He looked tired, David thought, and wasn’t sure that his surprise was warranted. Of course, he should be tired. Three operations. He looked like a young, tired Walt, too keyed up to go to sleep immediately, too fatigued to walk off the tension.
“Can I come in?” David asked hesitantly. W-1 nodded and moved aside, and David entered. He never had been inside this office.
“Clarence will not live,” W-1 said suddenly, and his voice, behind David, because he had not yet moved from the door, was so like Walt’s that David felt a thrill of something that might have been fear, or more likely, he told himself, just surprise again. “I did what I could,” W-1 said. He walked around his desk and sat down.
W-1 sat quietly, with none of the nervous mannerisms that Walt exhibited, none of the finger tapping that was as much a part of Walt’s conversation as his words. No pulling his ears or rubbing his nose. A Walt with something missing, David thought. They all had something missing, a dead area. Now, with fatigue drawing his face, W-1 sat unmoving, waiting patiently for David to begin, much the same way an adult might wait for a hesitant child to initiate a conversation.
“How did your people know about the accident?” David asked. “No one else knew.”
W-1 shrugged. A time-consumer question, he seemed to imply. “We just knew.”
“What are you doing in the lab now?” David asked, and heard a strained note in his voice. Somehow he had been made to feel like an interloper; his question sounded like idle chatter.
“Perfecting the methods,” W-1 said. “The usual thing.”
And something else, David thought, but he didn’t press it. “The equipment should be in excellent shape for another ten years or more,” he said. “And the methods, while probably not the best conceivable, are efficient enough. Why tamper now when the experiment seems to be proving itself?” For a moment he thought he saw a flicker of surprise cross W-1’s face, but it was gone too swiftly and once more the smooth mask revealed nothing.
“Remember when one of your women killed one of us a long time ago, David? Hilda murdered the child of her own likeness. We all shared that death, and we realized that each of you is alone. We’re not like you, David. I think you know it, but now you must accept it.” He stood up. “And we won’t go back to what you have.”
David stood up also, and his legs felt curiously weak. He gripped the edge of the desk. “What exactly do you mean?”
“Sexual reproduction isn’t the only answer. Just because the higher organisms evolved to it doesn’t mean it’s the best. Each time a species has died out, there has been another higher one to replace it.”
“Cloning is one of the worst ways for a higher species,” David said. “It stifles diversity.” The weakness in his legs seemed to be climbing, and he felt his hands start to tremble. He clenched the desk harder.
“That’s assuming diversity
is beneficial. Perhaps it isn’t,” W-1 said. “You pay a high price for individuality.”
“There is still the decline and the inevitable slide to extinction. Have you got around that?” David wanted suddenly to end this conversation, to hurry from the sterile office and the smooth unreadable face with the sharp eyes that seemed to know what he was feeling.
“Not yet,” W-1 said slowly. “But we have the fertile members to fall back on until we do.” He moved around his desk and walked toward the door. “I have to check my patients,” he said, and held the door open for David.
“Before I leave,” David said, “will you tell me what is the matter with Walt?”
“Don’t you know?” W-1 shook his head. “I keep forgetting, you don’t tell each other things, do you? He has cancer. Inoperable. It metastasized. He’s dying, David. I thought you knew that.”
David walked blankly for an hour or more, and finally found himself in his room, exhausted, unwilling yet to go to bed. He sat at his window until dawn, and then he went to Walt’s room. When Walt woke up he reported what W-1 had told him.
“They’ll use the fertile ones only to replenish their supply of clones,” he said. “The humans among them will be pariahs. They’ll destroy what we worked so hard to create.”
“Don’t let them do it, David. For God’s sake, don’t let them do it!” Walt’s color was bad, and he was too weak to sit up. “Vlasic’s mad, so he’ll be of no help. You have to stop them somehow.” Bitterly he said, “They want to take the easy way out, give up now when we know everything will work.”
David didn’t know if he was sorry or glad that he had told Walt. No more secrets, he thought. Never again. “I’ll stop them somehow,” he said. “I don’t know how, or when. But soon.”
A Four brought Walt’s breakfast, and David returned to his room. He rested and slept fitfully for a few hours, then showered and went to the cave entrance, where he was stopped by a Two.
“I’m sorry, David,” he said. “Jonathan says that you need a rest, that you are not to work now.”
Wordlessly David turned and left. Jonathan. W-1. If they had decided to bar him from the lab, they could do it. He and Walt had planned it that way: the cave was impregnable. He thought of the elders, forty-four of them left, and two of that number terminally ill. One of the remaining elders insane. Forty-one then, twenty-nine women. Eleven able-bodied men. Ninety-four clones.
He waited for days for Harry Vlasic to appear, but no one had seen him in weeks, and Vernon thought he was living in the lab. He had all his meals there. David gave that up; he found D-1 in the dining room and offered his help in the lab.
“I’m too bored doing nothing,” he said. “I’m used to working twelve hours a day or more.”
“You should rest now that there are others who can take the load off you,” D-1 said pleasantly. “Don’t worry about the work, David. It is going quite well.” He moved away, and David caught his arm.
“Why won’t you let me in? Haven’t you learned the value of an objective opinion?”
D-1 pulled away, and still smiling easily, said, “You want to destroy everything, David. In the name of mankind, of course. But still, we can’t let you do that.”
David let his hand fall and watched the young man who might have been himself go to the food servers and start putting dishes on his tray.
“I’m working on a plan,” he lied to Walt again and again in the weeks that followed. Daily Walt grew feebler, and now he was in great pain.
David’s father was with Walt most of the time now. He was gray and aged but in good health. He talked of their boyhood, of the coming hunting season, of the recession he feared might reduce his profits, of his wife, who had been dead for fifteen years. He was cheerful and happy, and Walt seemed to want him there.
In March, W-1 sent for David. He was in his office. “It’s about Walt,” he said. “We should not let him continue to suffer. He has done nothing to deserve this.”
“He is trying to last until the girls have their babies,” David said. “He wants to know.”
“But it doesn’t matter any longer,” W-1 said patiently. “And meanwhile he suffers.”
David stared at him with hatred.
W-1 continued to watch him for several more moments, then said, “We will decide.” The next morning it was found that Walt had died in his sleep.
~ * ~
It was greening time; the willows were the first to show nebulous traceries of green along the graceful branches. Forsythias and flaming bushes were in bloom, brilliant yellows and scarlets against the gray background. The river was high with spring runoffs up north and heavy March rains, but it was an expected high, not dangerous, not threatening this year. The air had a balminess that had been missing since September; the air was soft and smelled of wet woods and fertile earth. David sat on the slope overlooking the farm. There were calves in the field, and they looked the way spring calves always looked: thin legs, awkward, slightly stupid. No fields had been worked yet, but the garden was green: pale lettuce, blue-green kale, green spears of onions, dark green cabbage. The newest wing of the hospital, not yet painted, crude compared to the finished brick buildings, was being used already, and he could even see some of the young people at the windows studying. They had the best teachers, themselves, and the best students. They learned amazingly well from one another, better than they had in the early days.
They came out of the school in matched sets: four of this, three of that, two of another. He sought and found three Celias. He could no longer tell them apart; they were all grown-up Celias now, and indistinguishable. He watched them with no feeling of desire; no hatred moved him, no love. They vanished into the barn, and he looked up over the farm, into the hills on the other side of the valley. The ridges were hazy and had no sharp edges anywhere. They looked soft and welcoming. Soon, he thought. Soon. Before the dogwoods bloomed.
The night the first baby was born, there was another celebration. The elders talked among themselves, laughed at their own jokes, drank wine; the clones left them alone and partied at the other end of the room. When Vernon began to play his guitar and dancing started, David slipped away. He wandered on the hospital grounds for a few minutes, as though aimlessly, and then, when he was certain no one had followed him out, he began to trot toward the mill and the generator. Six hours, he thought. Six hours without electricity would destroy everything in the lab.
David approached the mill cautiously, hoping the rushing creek would mask any sound he might make. The building was three stories high, very large, with windows ten feet above ground, on the level where the offices were. The ground floor was filled with machinery. In the back the hill rose sharply; David could reach the windows by bracing himself on the steep incline and steadying himself with one hand on the building. He found a window that went up easily when he pushed it, and in a moment he was inside a dark office. He closed the window, and then, moving slowly with his hands outstretched to avoid any obstacle, crossed the room to the door and opened it a crack. The mill was never left unattended, but he hoped that those on duty tonight would be down with the machinery. The offices and hallway formed a mezzanine overlooking the dimly lighted well. Grotesque shadows made the hallway strange, with deep pools of darkness and places where he would be clearly visible should anyone happen to look up at the right moment. Suddenly David stiffened. Voices.
He slipped his shoes off and opened the door wider. The voices were below him. Soundlessly he ran toward the control room, keeping close to the wall. He was almost to the door when the lights came on all over the building. There was a shout, and he could hear them running up the stairs. He made a dash for the door and yanked it open, slammed it behind him. There was no way to lock it. He pushed a file cabinet an inch or so, gave up, and picked up a metal stool by its legs. He raised it and swung it hard against the main control panel. At the same moment he felt a crushing pain in his shoulders, and he stumbled and fell forward as the lights went out.
/> ~ * ~
He opened his eyes painfully. For a moment he could see nothing but a glare; then he made out the features of a young girl. She was reading a book, concentrating on it. Dorothy? She was his cousin Dorothy. He tried to rise, and she looked up and smiled at him.
“Dorothy? What are you doing here?” He couldn’t get off the bed. On the other side of the room a door opened and Walt came in, also very young, unlined, with his nice brown hair ruffled.
David’s head began to hurt, and he reached up to find bandages that came down almost to his eyes. Slowly memory came back and he closed his eyes, willing the memory to fade away again, to let them be Dorothy and Walt.
“How do you feel?” W-1 asked. David felt the cool fingers on his wrist. “You’ll be all right. A slight concussion, badly bruised, I’m afraid. You’re going to be pretty sore for a while.”
Orbit 15 - [Anthology] Page 10