The Children Star (27 page)

'jum went on feeding the vine, which had grown about a centimeter so far. 'jum knew pretty well what used to happen between her parents in their corner of the shack, and what happened to girls in the street who didn't throw stones.

“The two ringlike cells fit together, alongside each other,” Sarai continued. “Then, all around the ring, the two cells fuse completely.”

On the holostage the two rings merged, becoming one.

“Imagine it, if two human lovers became one person with four legs! But each microzoöid is just a cell, remember, with its one ring of triplex DNA. The double cell now has two rings.”

Within the holographic cell, the two rings of DNA lit up red.

“Since the two enamored cells have become one, their two DNA rings can merge and exchange all six strands. Then they pull apart—in
three
rings of
duplex
DNA. The two red rings came together. Then they split apart into three, presumably three double helices.”

Elk jumped up again. “You mean the triplex DNA cells produce
duplex
offspring? So that two triplex parents merge to make three duplex daughters?”

Sarai threw up her hands. “Go ahead, you give the seminar.”

Khral said, “Never mind, Sarai; we're just trying to follow the evidence. So you observe duplex daughter cells; and then?”

She gave a dark look in Elk's direction. “As our resident genius proposed, each daughter cell has duplex DNA. But it grows a third DNA strand right away, restoring the triplex, while enzymes correct all the base-pair mismatches amongst the parental strands, completing genetic recombination throughout the chromosome. Of course the mechanism of recombining triple-stranded DNA molecules is a matter for some speculation. . . .”

She speculated for the next half hour, and one of the medics got up to leave. Sarai glared at the three who remained. “Nano-pushers. No intellectual curiosity, that's what's wrong with the medical profession today. How else will you invent new antibiotics, if not to attack the mechanics of DNA?”

On the holostage the three blue rings began to pulse different colors, while waving their flagella to propel themselves away. “Two parents, three children,” said Sarai. “But the interesting point is this:
where are their parents?
Their parents no longer exist, right? Ordinary microbes wouldn't care, but these care a lot.” She flicked her webbed hand toward the audience. “Remember, I inoculated with eight individuals, the Sharer way. Not all eight cells reproduced. One of them avoided reproduction, while the others underwent several generations. The first one remained, not a parent exactly, but an ‘elder' for the young ones. And in all my cultures, the young ones know who their elders are.

“Think of ordinary microbes. What kinds of microbes know their parents, let alone their elders? Yeasts bud off daughter cells, and volvox colonies protect their young within the center. But when the young leave, that's it; they never notice their parents again.”

Sarai clicked again at the holostage. Numbers filled the air, all the thousands of numbers she and 'jum had studied from the flashing cells. “These sisterlings are different. Their elders pass on their civilization. From the moment of birth, the young sisterlings and their elders flash numbers at each other. At first easy numbers, mainly threes and fives; then larger numbers, even with multiple factors. Those multiple factors are
words
. We even learned two of their words—
‘1 0 5 3 0 1,'
for the antitriplex antibiotic;
‘1 0 0 0 3 0 8 0 12 0 2,'
for anthocyanin. Each individual word starts with a number
1.
”

'jum had slipped down from her seat and stepped up to the holostage, as if mesmerized. She picked at the digits as if to pluck them from the air, then pointed to other patterns she liked even better. What if each “word” were actually a prime series with holes in it?

“There can be only one conclusion,” said Sarai at last. “We're dealing not with the messenger, but with the sisterlings themselves—the true intelligence of Prokaryon. For this insight, of course, I must give credit to my colleague, Ushum.”

For a minute after Sarai stopped there was silence, as if the audience could not believe she had quite done. Khral rose and stretched, her legs stiff after the two-hour marathon.

“Just a moment,” called Quark's eyespeaker. “There are lots of possible conclusions. How do you even know you've got one species? Your culture may not be pure; you started with eight founders.”

“Sharers always start cultures with eight,” said Sarai. “So they won't be lonely.”

“But—” Quark sputtered but gave up.

Elk rose. “Where do these microzoöids live, if not in a tumbleround?”

“They can adapt to live in almost any host, just as humans can adapt to any climate. According to Khral's work, they are more highly concentrated in the tumbleround than anywhere else,” she admitted. “We think the tumbleround is their city, their main dwelling place.”

“But they could enter the singing-trees too—and control them!” exclaimed Elk. “I've checked, now that I know what to look for. The singing-trees could be their longdistance communication!”

A sentient medic reared its caterpillar limbs. “What about
human
hosts?” he insisted. “Why and how do these microzoöids cause disease? What's their pathology? Why the onset at entrance to a spaceship?”

“What do you think?” demanded Sarai. “Would
you
like to be carried off from your own universe at a moment's notice, without permission? Wouldn't you try to bail out from your host first?” She added thoughtfully, “Of course . . . all of them might not have bailed out. Some might have stayed on and hitched a ride to the stars. . . .”

“Wait a minute.” The next medic reared its caterpillar body. “Are you saying we've got an
intelligent disease
here that's managed to spread undetected—perhaps even to other worlds?”

No one answered. The three medics suddenly slunk out of the room as fast as they could crawl, several snake eggs in pursuit.

“Wait,” Khral called after them. “It's not a ‘disease' we're talking about—it's a new sentient race!”

Station said, “You're right, Khral; I've notified the Secretariat. But it's a disease, too. Those Elysians are dying.”

“How do we talk to them? How do we convince
them
whom to talk to?”

Elk added, “After they've tried for decades to contact our own bacteria?” He shook his head. “They must have
given up long ago. They must think we have an IQ of zero.”

'jum stared. In her eyelids she saw the other lights flashing again. Perhaps she was turning into a holostage—a holostage for the sisterlings inside of her. But how to talk back?

She remembered the vines with the photoemitting tips that Mother Sarai had made to “talk” to the sisterlings in her pod. 'jum had thought of trying those vines before, and now that Mother's attention was diverted, she had her chance. She slipped out of her seat and departed unnoticed. As she was leaving, Khral looked up. “Sarai, who was the first carrier? Which human did you get your culture from?”

Rod awoke with a start. He must have dozed off, but his pocket holostage was beeping. Beside him, Haemum and Chad were fast asleep, too exhausted even to wake. The midday sun filtered through the arches of the singing-trees, and the helicoids cried.

Wondering what to do, Rod frowned at the holostage. Only Mother Artemis had the code to reach him. The holostage beeped again. Very reluctantly he opened the case. “Reception only,” he spoke.

In the box two tiny figures appeared; he took a closer look. One was Khral, the other Elk Moon, his tall figure reduced to doll size.

Rod blinked in surprise. How could she have found him? Was it a trick to capture him—a recorded image?

“Rod? Do you hear us, Rod?” She sounded anxious. “I don't know, Elk; we've got to keep trying.” Her head leaned to hear Quark's eyespeaker whisper. The whole lab group, trying to call him?

“Answer, Rod, please. Your children—we've got to help them.”

His hand tightened on the box. “Transmit,” he ordered at last.

Khral's eyes widened. “It's you!” the tiny voice gasped. “Thank goodness you're okay.”

Rod frowned. “Where did you get my code?”

“From Mother Artemis. We—”

“Is she all right? And all the children?”

“As far as we know. They're—”

Station's voice said, “They're all well, on board.”

Rod let out a sigh, and for a moment he could not speak.

“They're all . . . well enough.” Khral's voice wavered.

Elk added, “Three Crows is helping them out. With the quarantine, now, nobody can leave this place—period. None of us, for Torr knows how long.”

“It's horrible,” Khral exclaimed. “The Fold has gone crazy—they may kill off this planet, Rod, whether you're there or not.”

Rod shrugged. “So be it. What do you need from me?”

“Station said we had to find you,” Khral explained, “and Mother Artemis agreed. Rod—there's something else you need to know.” She looked uncertainly at Elk.

“It's about the microzoöids,” Elk said guardedly. “Khral will explain.”

Rod felt he knew more than he wanted already.

“Well,” said Khral, “Sarai told us where she got her first culture. She cleared them all out,” Khral added hurriedly, “but—” She stopped. “They were in Gaea's spinal fluid.”

His mouth fell open. “In Gaea?” He had not expected this at all. “But how—when—”

Khral's face crumpled, and she turned away. Elk put his arm around to comfort her. “It's all right,” he added. “Sarai promised she cleared them out.”

“It was when Gaea was there for lifeshaping, to correct her spina bifida,” Khral explained, collecting herself.

“But—
why didn't she tell me?”

“She doesn't trust you.”

Rod remembered that day he arrived, with the two bruised boys and the girl badly in need of care; and how Sarai had made him lose his temper. It had never occurred to him to wonder what she thought of him.

“She checked Gaea's spinal fluids very carefully, and she found these odd silicate crystals, which none of our own nanoservos ever noticed because they weren't programmed to do so. Inside the silicate crystals hide the microzoöids.”

Elk added, “You see what that means? We all could be carriers.”

“But we're not,” Khral added hurriedly. “We're all getting checked, now that we know what to look for.”

Quark said, “Even the sentients were all checked, though no silicates have yet been found in us. Not that I'd go near that planet again.”

How prudent, Rod thought ironically. “I thought you said it was normal to have a few microzoöids going through your system.”

“In the intestinal tract, it's normal to find a few,” Khral explained, “but the central nervous system has to be sterile. Infection there causes meningitis—that's what the Elysians got.”

“The Elysians are still sick? Why couldn't you clear out the ‘silicates'?”

“The medics are afraid to try that. Remember, the triplex antibiotic killed the dog. What would you do, if somebody from ‘outside' tried to do you in? Rod, the microzoöids themselves are intelligent.”

The microzoöids were intelligent. A brain's worth of
data in a single cell. It was senseless; and yet suddenly everything made sense. No wonder the thinking creatures had gone unfound for so long. And now . . . A chill came over his scalp. How many of them were inside him? Would they not think it right to take his own life, to save so many of theirs?

“All the colonists are getting checked now,” Khral told him. “Rod, you need to get checked too.”

“It's too late. They're already in my brain. They talk.”

“They what?”

“They make letters and words.”

Khral and Elk exchanged startled glances.

Station's voice took over. “Rod, we need your help. If you've made contact, then Secretary Verid can use you. And we need you to find out what those invaders do when their host tries to board a starship.”

“Wait a minute,” Khral interrupted. “Station, you didn't tell me about this. You keep quiet.”

“We'll pay you, Rod,” continued Station. “Double-hazard pay.”

“No you won't!” Khral reached for the switch. Elk caught her arm to restrain her, but she pushed him away. “Leave Rod alone, he's been through enough. Holostage—Good-bye.”

“But the Elysian lives are at stake,” said Elk. “Rod's microzoöids might even tell us how to save them.”

Station added, “And we'll restore your immigration quota.” The Fold would give anything to save those two foolish Elysians, while half a world could die of prions.

“Leave Rod alone,” insisted Khral. “When Secretary Verid gets here, let her decide how to make contact.”

Then his inner eye opened, and he saw, as if a light shone, what he was called to do. “I will do it,” he said clearly. “I will come back and do what is needed—on one
condition. I will take no payments—nothing at all. I will do as I am called, for that reason alone.”

Khral's face turned gray. “No, Rod,” she whispered. “Not you.”

Deep within the sphere of the Secretariat, the Fold Council held an emergency session. Outside, the reporter eggs hovered insistently, but this hearing was closed.

The nanoplastic chamber had shaped itself to make luxurious seats for the delegates, each representing one of the eight peoples of the Fold. Over the council presided the Secretary herself. Outwardly Verid smiled at the delegates, a smile just long enough to meet the occasion. Within herself she burned, like a coal mine on fire underground. Her beloved Iras was dying—half a millennium of their life together, now suspended.