Ship Who Searched (6 page)

Ted agreed silently, and she hugged him again. “I’d rather talk to you, anyway,” she told him. “You never say anything dumb. Dad says that if you can’t say something intelligent, you shouldn’t say anything; and Mum says that people who know when to shut up are the smartest people of all, so I guess you must be pretty smart. Right?”

But she never got a chance to find out if Ted agreed with that statement, because at that point she fell right asleep.

Over the course of the next few days, it became evident that this was not just an ordinary garbage dump; this was one containing scientific or medical debris. That raised the status of the site from “important” to “priceless,” and Pota and Braddon took to spending every waking moment either at the site or preserving and examining their finds, making copious notes, and any number of speculations. They hardly ever saw Tia anymore; they had changed their schedule so that they were awake long before she was and came in long after she went to bed.

Pota apologized—via a holo that she had left to play for Tia as soon as she came in to breakfast this morning.

“Pumpkin,” her image said, while Tia sipped her juice. “I hope you can understand why we’re doing this. The more we find out before the team gets sent out, the more we make ourselves essential to the dig, the better our chances for that promotion.” Pota’s image ran a hand through her hair; to Tia’s critical eyes, she looked very tired, and a bit frazzled, but fairly satisfied. “It won’t be more than a few weeks, I promise. Then things will go back to normal. Better than normal, in fact. I promise that we’ll have a Family Day before the team gets here, all right? So start thinking what you’d like to do.”

Well,
that
would be stellar! Tia knew exactly what she wanted to do—she wanted to go out to the mountains on the big sled, and she wanted to drive it herself on the way.

“So forgive us, all right? We don’t love you any less, and we think about you all the time, and we miss you like anything.” Pota blew a kiss toward the camera. “I know you can take care of yourself; in fact, we’re counting on that. You’re making a big difference to us. I want you to know that. Love you, baby.”

Tia finished her juice as the holo flickered out, and a certain temptation raised its head. This could be a really unique opportunity to play hooky, just a little bit. Mum and Dad were not going to be checking the tutor to see how her lessons were going—and the Institute Psychs wouldn’t care; they thought she was too advanced for her age anyway. She could even raid the library for the holos she wasn’t precisely supposed to watch. . . .

“Oh, Finagle,” she said, regretfully, after a moment. It might be fun—but it would be
guilty
fun. And besides, sooner or later Mum and Dad would find out what she’d done, and
ping!
there would go the Family Day and probably a lot of other privileges. She weighed the immediate pleasure of being lazy and watching forbidden holos against the future pleasure of being able to pilot the sled up the mountains, and the latter outranked the former. Piloting the sled was the closest
she
would get to piloting a ship, and she wouldn’t be able to do that for years and years and years yet.

And if she fell on her nose
now
, right when Mum and Dad trusted her most—they’d probably restrict her to the dome for ever and ever.

“Not worth it,” she sighed, jumping down from her stool. She frowned as she noticed that the pins-and-needles feeling in her toes still hadn’t gone away. It had been there when she woke up this morning. It had been there yesterday too, and the day before, but by breakfast it had worn off.

Well, it didn’t bother her that much, and it wouldn’t take her mind off her Latin lesson. Too bad, too.

“Boring language,” she muttered. “
Ick, ack, ock!
”

Well, the sooner she got it over with, the better off she’d be, and she could go back to nice logical quadratics.

The pins-and-needles feeling hadn’t worn off by afternoon, and although she felt all right, she decided that since Mum and Dad were trusting her to do everything right, she probably ought to talk to the AI about it

“Socrates, engage Medic Mode, please,” she said, sitting down reluctantly in the tiny medic station. She
really
didn’t like being in the medic-station; it smelled of disinfectant and felt like being in a too-small pressure suit. It was just about the size of a tiny lav, but something about it made it
feel
smaller. Maybe because it was dark inside. And of course, since it had been made for adults, the proportions were all wrong for her. In order to reach hand-plates she had to scoot to the edge of the seat, and in order to reach foot-plates she had to get right off the seat entirely. The screen in front of her lit up with the smiling holo of someone that was supposed to be a doctor. Privately, she doubted that the original had ever been any closer to medicine than wearing the jumpsuit. He just looked too—polished.
Too
trustworthy,
too
handsome,
too
competent. Any time there was anything official she had to interface with that seemed to scream
trust me
at her, she immediately distrusted it and went very wary. Probably the original for this holo had been an actor. Maybe he made adults feel calm, but he made her think about the Psychs and their too-hearty greetings, their nosy questions.

“Well, Tia,” said the AI’s voice—changed to that of the “doctor.” “What brings you here?”

“My toes feel like they’re asleep,” she said dutifully. “They kind of tingle.”

“Is that all?” the “doctor” asked, after a moment for the AI to access his library of symptoms. “Are they colder than normal? Put your hand on the hand-plate, and your foot on the foot-plate, Tia.”

She obeyed, feeling very like a contortionist.

“Well, the circulation seems to be fine,” the “doctor” said, after the AI had a chance to read temperature and blood pressure, both of which appeared in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. “Have you any other symptoms?”

“No,” she replied. “Not really.” The “doctor” froze for a moment, as the AI analyzed all the other readings it had taken from her during the past few days—what she’d eaten and how much, what she’d done, her sleep-patterns.

The “doctor” unfroze. “Sometimes when children start growing very fast, they get odd sensations in their bodies,” the AI said. “A long time ago, those were called ‘growing pains.’ Now we know it’s because sometimes different kinds of tissue grow at different rates. I think that’s probably what your problem is, Tia, and I don’t think you need to worry about it. I’ll prescribe some vitamin supplements for you, and in a few days you should be just fine.”

“Thank you,” she said politely, and made her escape, relieved to have gotten off so lightly.

And in a few days, the pins-and-needles sensation
did
go away, and she thought no more about it. Thought no more, that is, until she went outside to her new “dig” and did something she hadn’t done in a year—she fell down. Well, she didn’t exactly fall; she
thought
she’d sidestepped a big rock, but she hadn’t. She rammed her toes right into it and went heavily to her knees.

The suit was intact, she discovered to her relief—and she was quite ready to get up and keep going, until she realized that her foot didn’t hurt.

And it should have, if she’d rammed it against the outcropping hard enough to throw her to the ground.

So instead of going on, she went back to the dome and peeled off suit and shoe and sock—and found her foot was completely numb, but black-and-blue where she had slammed it into the unyielding stone.

When she prodded it experimentally, she discovered that her whole foot was numb, from the toes back to the arch. She peeled off her other shoe and sock, and found that her left foot was as numb as her right.

“Decom it,” she muttered. This surely meant another check-in with the medic.

Once again she climbed into the claustrophobic little closet at the back of the dome and called up the “doctor.”

“Still got pins-and-needles, Tia?” he said cheerfully, as she wriggled on the hard seat.

“No,” she replied, “But I’ve mashed my foot something awful. It’s all black-and-blue.”

“Put it on the foot-plate, and I’ll scan it,” the “doctor” replied. “I promise, it won’t hurt a bit.”

Of course it won’t, it doesn’t hurt now,
she thought resentfully, but did as she was told.

“Well, no bones broken, but you certainly did bruise it!” the “doctor” said after a moment. Then he added archly, “What were you doing, kicking the tutor?”

“No,” she muttered. She really
hated
it when the AI program made it get patronizing. “I stubbed it on a rock, outside.”

“Does it hurt?” the “doctor” continued, oblivious to her resentment.

“No,” she said shortly. “It’s all numb.”

“Well, if it does, I’ve authorized your bathroom to give you some pills,” the “doctor” said with cloying cheer. “Just go right ahead and take them if you need them—you know how to get them.”

The screen shut down before she had a chance to say anything else. I guess it isn’t anything to worry about, she decided. The AI would have said something otherwise. It’ll probably go away.

But it didn’t go away, although the bruises healed. Before long she had other bruises, and the numbness of her feet extended to her ankles. But she told herself that the AI had said it would go away, eventually—and anyway, this wasn’t so bad, at least when she mashed herself it didn’t
hurt.

She continued to play at her own little excavation, the new one—which she had decided was a grave-site. The primitives burned their dead though, and only buried the ashes with their flint-replicas of the sky-gods’ wonderful things—hoping that the dearly departed would be reincarnated as sky-gods and return in wealth and triumph. . . .

It wasn’t as much fun though, without Mum and Dad to talk to; and she was getting kind of tired of the way she kept tripping and falling over the uneven ground at the new “site.” She hadn’t damaged her new suit yet, but there were sharp rocks that could rip holes even in the tough suit fabric—and if her suit was torn, there would go the promised Family Day.

So, finally, she gave up on it and spent her afternoons inside.

A few nights later, Pota peeked in her room to see if she was still awake.

“I wanted you to know we were still flesh-and-blood and not holos, pumpkin,” her mum said, sitting down on the side of her bed. “How are your excavations coming?”

Tia shook her head. “I kept tripping on things, and I didn’t want to tear my suit,” she explained. “I think that the Flint People must have put a curse on their grave-site. I don’t think I should dig there anymore.”

Pota chuckled, hugged her, and said, “That could very well be, dear. It never pays to underestimate the power of religion. When the others arrive we’ll research their religion and take the curse off, all right?”

“Okay,” she replied. She wondered for a moment if she should mention her feet—

But Pota kissed her and whisked out the door before she could make up her mind.

Nothing more happened for several days, and she got used to having numb feet. If she was careful to watch where she stepped, and careful never to go barefoot, there really wasn’t anything to worry about. And the AI had
said
it was something that happened to other children.

Besides, now Mum and Dad were
really
finding important things. In a quick breakfast-holo, a tired but excited Braddon said that what they were uncovering now might mean a whole lot more than just a promotion. It might mean the establishment of a fieldwide reputation.

Just what that meant, exactly, Tia wasn’t certain—but there was no doubt that it must be important or Braddon wouldn’t have been so excited about it. So she decided that whatever was wrong with her could wait. It wouldn’t be long now, and once Mum and Dad weren’t involved in this day-and-night frenzy of activity, she could explain everything and they would see to it that the medics gave her the right shot or whatever it was that she needed.

The next morning when she woke up, her fingers were tingling.

Tia sighed and took her place inside the medic booth. This was getting very tiresome.

The AI ran her through the standard questions, which she answered as she had before. “So now you have that same tingling in your hands as you did in your feet, is that right?” the “doctor” asked.

“That’s right,” she said shortly.

“The same tingling that went away?” the “doctor” persisted.

“Yes,” she replied. Should I say something about how it doesn’t tingle anymore, about how now it’s numb? But the AI was continuing.

“Tia, I can’t really find anything wrong with you,” it said. “Your circulation is fine, you don’t have a fever, your appetite and weight are fine, you’re sleeping right. But you
do
seem to have gotten very accident prone lately.” The “doctor” took on a look of concern covering impatience. “Tia, I know that your parents are very busy right now, and they don’t have time to talk to you or play with you. Is
that
what’s really wrong? Are you angry with your parents for leaving you alone so much? Would you like to talk to a Counselor?”

“No!” she snapped. The idea! The
stupid
AI actually thought she was making this up to get attention!

“Well, you simply don’t have any other symptoms,” the “doctor” said, none too gently. “This hasn’t got to the point where I’d have to insist that you talk to a Counselor, but really, without anything else to go on, I can’t suggest anything else except that this is a phase you’ll grow out of.”

“
This hasn’t got to the point where I’d have to insist that you talk to a Counselor.
” Those were dangerous words. The AI’s “Counselor” mode was only good for so much—and every single thing she said and did would be recorded the moment that she started “Counseling.” Then all the Psychs back at the Institute would be sent the recordings via compressed-mode databurst—and they’d be all over them, looking for something wrong with her that needed Psyching. And if they found anything, anything at all, Mum and Dad would get orders from the Board of Mental Health that they couldn’t ignore, and she’d be shipped back to a school on the next courier run.