Cyteen: The Betrayal (41 page)

Because, as Grant said, a skill was damned important to an azi.

And he still could not work out the ethics of it-whether it was right to make a Theta get real pleasure out of the work instead of the approval. There was something moral involved. And there were basic structural problems in linking that way into an azi psychset, that was the trouble with it, and Yanni was right. An artificial psychset needed simple foundations, not complicated ones, or it got into very dangerous complexities. Deep-set linkages could become neuroses and obsessive behavior that could destroy an azi and be far more cruel than any simple boredom.

But he kept turning in the study designs for Yanni to see, when Yanni was in a mellow mood; and Yanni had been, now and again.

“You’re a fool,” was the best he got. And sometimes a paragraph on paper, outlining repercussions. Suggesting a study-tape out of Sociology.

He cherished those notes. He got the tapes. He ran them. He found mistakes. He built around them.

“You’re still a fool,” Yanni said. “What you’re doing, son, is making your damage slower and probably deeper. But keep working. If you’ve got all this spare time I can suggest some useful things to do with it. We’ve got a glitch-up in a Beta set. We’ve got everything we can handle. The set is ten years old and it’s glitching off one of three manual skills tapes. We think. The instructor thinks. You’ve got the case histories in this fiche. Apply your talents to that and see if you and Grant can come up with some answers.”

He went away with the fiche and the folder, with a trouble-shoot to run, which was hell and away more real work than Yanni had yet trusted him with.

Which was, when he got it on the screen, a real bitch. The three azi had had enough tape run on them over the years to fill a page, and each one had been in a different application. But the glitch was a bad one. The azi were all under patch-tape, a generic calm-down-it’s-not-your-fault, meaning three azi were waiting real-time in some anguish for some designer to come up with something to take their nameless distress and deal with it in a sensible way.

God, it was months old. They were not on Cyteen. Local Master Supervisors had all had a hand in the analysis, run two fixes on one, and they had gone badly sour.

Which meant it was beyond ordinary distress. It was not a theoretical problem.

He made two calls, one to Grant. “I need an opinion.”

One to Yanni. “Tell me someone else is working on this. Yanni, this is a probable wipe, for God’s sake, give it to someone who knows what he’s doing.”

“You claim you do,” Yanni said, and hung up on him.

“Damn you!” he yelled at Yanni after the fact.

And when Grant got there, they threw out everything they were both working on and got on it.

For three damnable sleep-deprived weeks before they comped a deep-set intersect in a skills tape. In all three.

“Dammit,” he yelled at Yanni when he turned it in, “this is a mess, Yanni! You could have found this thing in a week. These are human beings, for God’s sake, one of them’s running with a botch-up on top of the other damage-“

“Well, you manage, don’t you? I thought you’d empathize. Go do a fix.”

“What do you mean, ‘do a fix’? Run me a check!”

“This one’s all yours. Do me a fix. You don’t need a check.”

He drew a long, a desperate breath. And stared at Yanni with the thought of breaking his neck. “Is this a real-time problem? Or is this some damn trick? Some damn exercise you’ve cooked up?”

“Yes, it’s real-time. And while you’re standing here arguing, they’re still waiting. So get on it. You did that fairly fast. Let’s see what else you can do.”

“I know what you’re doing to me, dammit! Don’t take it out on the azi!”

“Don’t you,” Yanni said. And walked off into his inner office and shut the door.

He stood there. He looked desperately at Marge, Yanni’s aide.

Marge gave him a sympathetic look and shook her head.

So he went back and broke the news to Grant.

And turned in the fix in three days.

“Fine,” Yanni said. “I hope it works. I’ve got another case for you.”

“This is part of my work,” maman said, and Ari, walking with her hand in maman’s, not because she was a baby, but because the machinery was huge and things moved and everything was dangerous, looked around at the shiny steel things they called womb-tanks, each one as big as a bus, and asked, loudly:

“Where are the babies?”

“Inside the tanks,” maman said. An azi came up and maman said: “This is my daughter Ari. She’s going to take a look at a few of the screens.”

“Yes, Dr. Strassen,” the azi said. Everyone talked loud. “Hello, Ari.”

“Hello,” she yelled up at the azi, who was a woman. And held on to maman’s hand, because maman was following the azi down the long row.

It was only another desk, after all, and a monitor screen. But maman said: “What’s the earliest here?”

“Number ten’s a week down.”

“Ari, can you count ten tanks down? That’s nearly to the wall.”

Ari looked. And counted. She nodded.

“All right,” maman said. “Mary, let’s have a look. -Ari, Mary here is going to show you the baby inside number ten, right here on the screen.”

“Can’t we look inside?”

“The light would bother the baby,” maman said. “They’re like birthday presents. You can’t open them till it’s the baby’s birthday. All right?”

That was funny. Ari laughed and plumped herself down on the seat. And what came on the screen was a red little something.

“That’s the baby,” maman said, and pointed. “Right there.”

“Ugh.” It clicked with something she had seen somewhere. Which was probably tape. It was a kind of a baby.

“Oh, yes. Ugh. All babies look that way when they’re a week old. It takes them how many weeks to be born?”

“Forty and some,” Ari said. She remembered that from down deep too. “Are they all like this?”

“What’s closest to eight weeks, Mary?”

“Four and five are nine,” Mary said. “That’s tanks four and five, Ari. Look where they are, and we’ll show you-which one, Mary?”

“Number four, sera. Here we are.”

“It’s still ugly,” Ari said. “Can we see a pretty one?”

“Well, let’s just keep hunting.”

The next was better. The next was better still. Finally the babies got so big they were too big to see all of. And they moved around. Ari was excited, really excited, because maman said they were going to birth one.

There were a lot of techs when they got around to that. Maman took firm hold of Ari’s shoulders and made her stand right in front of her so she would be able to see; and told her where to look, right there, right in that tank. “Won’t it drown?” Ari asked.

“No, no, babies live in liquid, don’t they? Now, right now, the inside of the tank is doing just what the inside of a person does when birth happens. It’s going to push the baby right out. Like muscles, only this is all pumps. It’s really going to bleed, because there’s a lot of blood going in and out of the pumps and it’s going to break some of the vessels in the bioplasm when it pushes like that.”

“Does the baby have a cord and everything?”

“Oh, yes, babies have to have. It’s a real one. Everything is real right up to the bioplasm: that’s the most complicated

thing-it can really grow a blood system. Watch out now, see the light blink. That means the techs should get ready. Here it comes. There’s its head. That’s the direction babies are supposed to face.”

“Sploosh!” Ari cried, and clapped her hands when it hit the tank. And stood still as it started swimming and the nasty stuff went through the water. “Ugh.”

But the azi techs got it out of there, and got the cord, and did go on moving. Ari stood up on her toes trying to see as they took it over to the counter, but Mary the azi made them stop to show her the baby making faces. It was a boy baby.

Then they washed it and powdered it and wrapped it up, and Mary held it and rocked it.

“This is GY-7688,” maman said. “His name is August. He’s going to be one of our security guards when he grows up. But he’ll be a baby for a long time yet. When you’re twelve, he’ll be as old as you are now.”

Ari was fascinated. They let her wash her hands and touch the baby. It waved a fist at her and kicked and she laughed out loud, it was so funny.

“Say goodbye,” maman said then. “Thank Mary.”

“Thank you,” Ari said, and meant it. It was fun. She hoped they could come back again.

“Did you like the lab?” maman asked.

“I liked it when the baby was born.”

“Ollie was born like that. He was born right in this lab.”

She could not imagine Ollie tiny and funny like that. She did not want to think of Ollie like that. She wrinkled her nose and made Ollie all right in her mind again.

Grown up and handsome in his black uniform.

“Sometimes CITs are born out of the tanks,” maman said “If for some reason their mamans can’t carry them. The tank can do that. Do you know the difference between an azi and CIT, when they’re born the same way?” .

That was a hard question. There were a lot of differences Some were rules and some were the way azi were.

“What’s that?” she asked maman.

“How old were you when you had tape the first time?”

“I’m six.”

“That’s right. And you had your first tape the day after your birthday. Didn’t scare you, did it?”

“No,” she said; and shook her head so her hair flew. Because she liked to do that. Maman was slow with her questions and she got bored in between.

“You know when August will have his first tape?”

“When?”

“Today. Right now. They put him in a cradle and it has a kind of a tape going, so he can hear it.”

She was impressed. Jealous, even. August was a threat if he was going to be that smart.

“Why didn’t I do that?”

“Because you were going to be a CIT. Because you have to learn a lot of things the old-fashioned way. Because tapes are good, but if you’ve got a maman or a papa to take care of you, you learn all kinds of things August won’t learn until he’s older. CITs get a head start in a way. Azi learn a lot about how to be good and how to do their jobs, but they’re not very good at figuring out what to do with things they’ve never met before. CITs are good at taking care of emergencies. CITs can make up what to do. They learn that from their mamans. Tape-learning is good, but it isn’t everything. That’s why maman tells you to pay attention to what you see and hear. That’s why you’re supposed to learn from that first, so you know tape isn’t as important as your own eyes and ears. If August had a maman to take him home today he’d be a CIT.”

“Why can’t Mary be his maman?”

“Because Mary has too many kids to take care of. She has five hundred every year. Sometimes more than that. She couldn’t do all that work. So the tape has to do it. That’s why azi can’t have mamans. There just aren’t enough to go around.”

“I could take August.”

“No, you couldn’t. Mamans have to be grown up. I’d have to take him home, and he’d have to sleep in your bed and share your toys and have dirty diapers and cry a lot. And you’d have to share maman with him forever and ever. You can’t send a baby back just because you get tired of him. Would you like to have him take half your room and maman and Nelly and Ollie have to take care of him all the time? -because he’d be the baby then and he’d have to have all maman’s time.”

“No!” That was not a good idea. She grabbed onto maman’s hand and made up her mind no baby was going to sneak in and take half of everything. Sharing with nasty friends was bad enough.

“Come on,” maman said, and took her outside, in the sun, and into the garden where the fish were. Ari looked in her pants-pockets, but there was no crumb of bread or anything. Nelly had made her put on clean.

“Have you got fish-food?”

“No,” maman said, and patted the rock she sat on. “Come sit by maman, Ari. Tell me what you think about the babies.”

Lessons. Ari sighed and left the fish that swam up under the lilies; she squatted down on a smaller rock where she could see maman’s face and leaned her elbows on her knees.

“What do you think about them?”

“They’re all right.”

“You know Ollie was born there.”

“Is that baby going to be another Ollie?”

“You know he can’t. Why?”

She screwed up her face and thought. “He’s GY something and Ollie’s AO. He’s not even an Alpha.”

“That’s right. That’s exactly right. You’re very smart.”

She liked to hear that. She fidgeted.

“You know, you were born in that room, Ari.”

She heard that again in her head. And was not sure maman was not teasing her. She looked at maman, trying to figure out if it was a game. It didn’t look like a game.

“Maman couldn’t carry you. Maman’s much too old. Maman’s been on rejuv for years and years and she can’t have babies anymore. But the tanks can. So she told Mary to make a special baby. And maman was there at the tank when it was birthed, and maman picked it up out of the water, and that was you, Ari.”

She stared at maman. And tried to put herself in that room and in that tank, and be that baby Mary had picked up. She felt all different. She felt like she was different from herself. She did not know what to do about it.

Maman held her hands out. “Do you want maman to hold you, sweet? I will.”

Yes, she wanted that. She wanted to be little and fit on maman’s lap, and she tried, but she hurt maman, she was so big, so she just tucked up beside maman on the rock and felt big and clumsy while maman hugged her and rocked her. But It felt safer.

“Maman loves you, sweet. Maman truly does. There’s nothing wrong at all in being born out of that room. You’re the best little girl maman could have. I wouldn’t trade you for anybody.”

“I’m still yours.”

Maman was not going to answer/maman was, so fast a change it scared her till maman said: “You’re still mine, sweet.”

She did not know why her heart was beating so hard. She did not know why it felt like maman was not going to say that at first. That scared her more than anything. She was glad maman had her arms around her. She was cold.