The Broken God (52 page)

'Danlo wi Soli Ringess.'

Danlo opened his eyes and looked up, aware that Lord Vasquez was addressing him. 'Yes?' he said.

'Do you understand that a cure for this disease has never been found?'

'I understand ... but I do not understand.'

'How may I enlighten you?'

'The imprimaturs,' Danlo said, 'ages ago, they sequenced the entire human genome, yes?'

'This is true, Young Novice.'

'Then why isn't it possible to identify and cut out the virus segments of DNA? And if each ... civilized person has inherited genes that suppress this DNA, why can't these genes be spliced into the Alaloi people?'

Lord Vasquez twisted the wool of her bright green robe between her hands and said, 'You speak as if engineering were a simple thing. It's not – it's hideously complex. You must understand that, in general, there is no one-to-one mapping of a gene with a specific structure or function within the organism.'

'In truth?'

'Consider,' Lord Vasquez said, 'an imago used in the planning and construction of a building. Each point of light, each stone, archway or spire that you can see looking at the hologram or simulation, each of these images represents, in a one-to-one manner, the exact structure to be expressed in the completed building. But DNA is not like a building imago.'

Danlo waited a few moments for her to continue, then asked, 'What is it like?'

'It's more like a recipe for baking a cake. A set of instructions, Young Novice. Millions of simultaneous instructions. If the DNA code – the instructions – is expressed in the proper manner, an organism is constructed. Do you understand? So few people do. So many think it's an easy thing to engineer for an extra thumb or purple eyes. But it's hideously difficult. Could you bake a cake in the shape of a cathedral merely by adding extra flour or deleting eggs from the batter while raising the heat of the oven? No, of course not, and sometimes it's impossible to engineer one's genetic inheritance in the desired manner.'

Lord Vasquez went on to explicate the complexity of the plague virus. It was theorized, she said, that the virus DNA had stitched itself into at least five of the twenty-three human chromosomes, in certain loci actually replacing exons, the working genes vital to life. The virus was a duplicitous kind of DNA: at times, when suppressor genes kept parts of it turned off, it coded for the production of proteins necessary for all bodily metabolism. At other times, it produced – reproduced – the viral elements that had killed the Devaki tribe. Cutting the virus out of the genome likely would kill anyone so engineered, that is, assuming the virus DNA could be identified and edited. In fact, it could not be. In fact, there was much about the function and interactions of the three billion nucleotides of the human genome that remained unknown. It was unknown, for instance, exactly which genes suppressed the virus. The imprimaturs theorized that certain of the genome's introns – the so-called 'nonsense' genes separating the exons – might code for vital functions. These fossil genes, after lying dormant and useless for thousands (or even millions) of years, sometimes could come suddenly alive and suppress the viral genes. No one knew what quickened these suppressor genes. The environment in which they either thrived or failed was one of chaos, the chemicals of life that existed in a delicate, dynamic imbalance.

'Consider the human organism as an ecology,' Mariam Erendira Vasquez, the Lord Ecologist, said to Danlo. 'Consider what happens to an ecosystem when its predators are destroyed – disaster. Similarly, it's often impossible to cut out unwanted genes without harming the organism.'

Danlo touched the white feather in his hair. Although he immediately saw Lord Vasquez' point, he said, stubbornly, 'But predators do not slay all of their prey animals, else they would then starve. The plague virus is a disease ... that will slay all the Alaloi.'

'But not all human beings.'

'You have already made your decision, then.' Danlo looked up at the lords of Neverness sitting above him. Their faces were stony and hard, much like the countenances carved into the statues of the Order's most famous lords that stood in a grim circle around the walls of the chamber. 'Have you ever seen anyone die ... of the slow evil?' he asked.

Lord Vasquez evaded his question, saying, 'It's a disaster for your Alaloi, but it is not an arbitrary disaster. It's well known that the ancestors of the Alaloi carked their chromosomes. No doubt they engineered out certain unwanted introns. It's possible they cut out segments of the suppressor DNA by mistake. Certainly they altered the ecology of their bodies – and doomed themselves to die of this plague.'

Danlo held his fingers against the scar on his forehead. 'Mi pela lalashu, the ... blessed people, doomed.'

'It's what comes of degrading or editing a cell's information,' Lord Vasquez said.

'Shantih,' Danlo whispered.

'The Order's splicers,' Lord Vasquez said, 'were not able to cure the disease at the time of the plague a thousand years ago. Nor since then. Nor the engineers of Urradeth. Even the Agathanians, according to our librarians, have pronounced it incurable. Can you understand this?'

'Yes,' Danlo said. And then, after considering that the Agathanians, in their mastery of biological engineering, were like gods, he intoned, 'Ti-anansa daivam.'

Lord Vasquez forced a smile and asked, 'What does this mean?'

'It means, "Suffer your fate". You must love what you suffer.'

'I'm sorry, Young Novice,' Lord Vasquez said in her kindly, if officious, way. 'But there can be only one fate for your Alaloi. Can you accept this?'

'No.'

'We know it's difficult, Young Novice.'

Danlo was aware of Bardo breathing heavily next to him, staring at him, obviously intent on his every word. 'It is true we must love our fate,' Danlo said. 'Only ... no one knows his fate until his life is lived.'

'The scryers would dispute this belief.'

'Fate,' Danlo said softly. And then, 'A disease that has no cure. But ... how can we know this?'

Just then Lord Pall flashed Danlo a keen look and turned to Lord Nikolos. His ancient fingers began writhing like worms. Perhaps only a third or a fourth of the other lords understood the cetics' sign language. Those who did not watched Lord Pall's precise motions with looks of annoyance and boredom colouring their faces.

'Lord Pall,' Nikolos said, interpreting for the Lord Cetic, 'would remind our Young Novice that, of course, we can't absolutely know of the impossibility of a cure for this disease.'

And then Lord Ciceron added in his silky, insincere voice, 'We can, however, calculate the cost to the Order of a quest for a cure. We can weigh the benefits and chances of success – which are almost nil – against this cost.'

'Calculate!' a great voice suddenly boomed out. Bardo pounded his fist against his knee and glared at Lord Ciceron. 'Costs! Benefits! What are we, barbaric merchants who put a price on even the most priceless of things?'

'Be silent!' Lord Ciceron ordered. 'I shall not tell you this again.'

'Ah,' Bardo said. He looked down at the pilot's ring glistening darkly against his finger. He fell into silence, then, a silence as dark and fearsome as deep space.

Lord Ciceron turned away from Bardo and looked at the other lords. He said, 'The cost to the Order in calling such a quest would be very great. We should consider this as we vote.'

So saying, Lord Ciceron called for the College of Lords to decide Danlo's petition. Danlo was not surprised to see that only three lords raised their hands in favour of trying to cure the plague virus. All the others voted no.

'We're sorry our decision must be thus,' Lord Ciceron said to Danlo. 'But perhaps your Alaloi will still survive. It may be many years – or, we sincerely pray, never – before this unpredictable virus explodes into its active state.'

'Ah,' Bardo whispered to himself, 'ah, do you really care?'

Lord Ciceron took no notice of Bardo, but instead smiled weakly in Danlo's direction. 'And now there is one more matter to dispose of before you are dismissed. We all know that there are questions that the Master of Novices should have asked concerning the death of the novice Pedar Sadi Sanat. We would like to ask you these questions now. Young Novice. If your answers are satisfactory, it may be that we won't have to call for an akashic's inquest. Is this agreeable to you?'

Danlo looked quickly at Bardo, then said, 'Yes ... it is agreeable.'

'Very well,' Lord Ciceron said. He dropped his voice and turned to consult with the three other Lords of the Tetrad for a moment. 'Then I shall ask you the first questions.'

While Lord Ciceron cleared his throat to ask his questions, Lord Pall turned his head to look at Danlo. He stared at Danlo intensely, and Danlo remembered that the cetics supposedly could read the truth or falsity of a man's utterances in the way he said his words. He remembered, too, that during one, endless, unforgettable moment in the library the warrior-poet had claimed to read the truth from Hanuman's tortured face.

'I must ask the Young Novice,' Lord Ciceron said, 'if Hanuman li Tosh ever threatened the novice Pedar's life?'

Danlo closed his eyes for a moment, then said, 'No.'

'Did you ever threaten to kill Pedar?'

'No.'

'Did you kill Pedar?'

As Danlo drew in a breath of air, he could almost feel Lord Pall's eyes burning like lasers into his face. All the lords of the College of Lords, he saw, were looking at him, too.

'Did you cause Pedar Sadi Sanat to fall from the stairs?' Lord Ciceron repeated.

'I ... may have,' Danlo said.

From a hundred of the lords, almost at once, there was a lowing sound and low hiss of voices, men and women shaking their heads. Next to Danlo, still kneeling on their carpet, Bardo looked at him in disbelief.

'Please tell us how you killed him.'

'I ... imagined him dead.'

'What?'

'With the eye of my mind,' Danlo said, 'I saw him dead upon the stairs.'

Lord Ciceron waved his hand in annoyance. 'But did you push Pedar? Did you serve him any food or drink that day? Did you dissolve any drug in his wine?'

'No.'

'Did you physically cause him to fall from the stairs?'

'I wished him harm. I wished him to die. I ... willed this to happen.'

'And that is all?'

'Isn't that enough?'

Lord Ciceron traded glances with Lord Pall. Danlo saw Lord Pall lift his index finger, slightly. Lord Ciceron sucked at his blackened teeth and said, 'Anyone who had to submit to a boy such as Pedar might have imagined his death. We do not blame you for thinking what you thought. We can see that you are not to blame for what happened to Pedar.'

'Ah,' Bardo muttered softly, 'this is really enough.'

Apparently Lord Ciceron did not hear him say this, for he pointed his skinny finger at Danlo and continued, 'At least, we cannot blame you for causing his death directly. But is it possible that someone else might have caused his death on your behalf? Are you listening, Young Novice? Is it possible that Hanuman li Tosh killed Pedar?'

'No,' Danlo said. 'I cannot believe ... that he did.'

And then Danlo looked up at the starlit dome above him, and he became aware of a deeper thought: I will not believe this of Hanuman.

'But what is it that you know, Young Novice? Do you know if he killed Pedar?'

Danlo was silent for a moment, and then he said, 'No.'

'But do you know if Hanuman li Tosh was in his bed when– '

'By God, this is too much!' Bardo suddenly cried out. He struggled to his feet, and his face was full of blood and rage. He shook his huge fist at Lord Ciceron. 'Too goddamned much! You've asked him enough questions –

isn't it enough you've condemned his people to die? What's wrong with you? You're the filthy murderer, not him!'

'Be silent!' Lord Ciceron ordered. He pointed a long finger at Bardo. 'Kneel down, Pilot!'

'You be silent,' Bardo said, 'or I'll slap your face until your lips swell shut.'

'What did you say?'

'Your face, be silent.'

'My face!'

Bardo stood drunkenly on his massive legs and bellowed, 'You have the face of a barbaric merchant-pilot, not of a pilot of the Order!'

'I'm the Lord Pilot of the Order, and you've taken a vow of obedience!'

'By God, I should have been Lord Pilot, not you! Then I'd be reminding you that it's a pilot's duty and glory to seek impossible things, even such as a cure for this damned virus.'

'If you don't kneel immediately– '

'And I'd remind you that a Lord Pilot is to be an exemplar and teacher of novices, not their inquisitor.'

Lord Ciceron's hand and finger were now trembling, whether from fear or anger, Danlo couldn't tell. His smooth old voice, then, grew calm and full of deceit; it seemed he was trying to provoke Bardo to some disastrous action. 'But I'm the Lord Pilot, after all, and you are Master of Novices. I believe that the elevation – or the debasement – of the Master of Novices can fairly be called an administrative decision, and lies thus well within the duties of the Tetrad,' he bowed to the other three lords sitting at his table and smiled.

'Ah, but Mallory Ringess, before he left Neverness, made me, Bardo, Master of Novices. The Ringess, himself, did this.'

'And we four lords,' Chanoth Chen Ciceron said, 'may unmake the more foolish of his elevations. Your friend betrayed you when he raised you to a position beyond your abilities. And then betrayed the Order by leaving the City and leaving you to brutalize the novices.'

'By God, I think I will slap your face!'

Bardo made a move toward Lord Ciceron, but just then Danlo, still kneeling rigidly, reached out and grabbed Bardo's wrist. He clenched his fingers as he would around a spear shaft, feeling the power of the great, swollen muscles running along Bardo's forearm. Although Danlo was very strong, with hands hardened by a lifetime of work outside in the cold, he was not quite a fully grown man, and he could feel that Bardo easily could have broken away. Something in his grip, however, must have restrained Bardo. He looked down at Danlo, belched, and then smiled. 'Please let go,' he said softly.