The Children Star (28 page)

“Citizens.” The eight delegates lounged in their eight niches, at various angles and heights within the chamber. “Citizens—we are called into session, at request of the Delegate Elysium.”

The Delegate Elysium this decade was her old nemesis, Loris Anaea
shon
, who had unfortunately succeeded Verid herself as Prime Guardian of Elysium, only to follow her to the Secretariat. A server arm snaked out to offer him a flower cake, while another brought him a pocket holostage.

“The citizens of Elysium demand decisive action against this plague,” he proclaimed. “We must eliminate the source of this dreadful pathogen. The policy of partial cleansing was a noble attempt at humane preservation, worthy of the loftiest principles of the Fold. But the hostile weather conditions and the malevolent nature of this plague require decisive action. The planet has been evacuated, the last dissident miners and settlers recovered—the time is now.”
He raised his butterfly-cloaked arm. “Let the Secretary authorize the full sterilization of planet Iota Pavonis Three.”

“Seconded.” The Delegate Valedon sat beside him, in a white talar bearing a moon's worth of gems. Both he and the Elysian held substantial stock in Proteus Unlimited.

As Delegate Elysium began his predictable speech in support of the motion, Verid summoned herself out of her private hell. Her keen gaze swept the chamber. Whom might she count on to speak for Prokaryon—and its unknown inhabitants? Delegate Sharer, of course, of the ocean women of “Shora”; though dwelling on Shora with the Elysians, their race was granted separate representation. The Sharer wore a plain talar of purple that matched her complexion, a concession to sensitivities. She would oppose terraforming, as would the Delegate Sentient, a lamppost-shaped creature representing all the sentient machines of the Fold.

Beyond these votes in hand, Verid knew she faced an uphill fight. Delegate Bronze Sky, a shrewd woman as dark as the L'liite, would listen to argument; but even Bronze Sky, alas, was a terraformed world. Delegate Solaris, now, from the most remote of the Fold's worlds, was hard to predict. He would take an independent stand, for reasons of his own.

The Elysian's speech concluded, and Verid looked up. “No one is in a better position than I to sympathize with the intent of this motion.” She met the eyes of each delegate in turn. “But since when do we annihilate a whole biosphere, for one fatal disease? Which world of our own could survive such a test?” She shook her head. “More than that—an
intelligent
disease. The duty to respect an alien intelligence forms a cornerstone of the Fold Constitution—and for good reason. In respecting ‘the other,' we assure respect for ourselves.”

Delegate Valedon's seat came alight to respond. “The constitution was never meant to apply to just any old intelligent alien. It was meant for, well, hostile space invaders, that sort of thing. Aliens we could deal with—strike bargains with, buy off, in the usual way. How can you deal with a microbe?” He shrugged. “If you believe they're ‘intelligent,' which I don't; it's not been proven. Even if they are—all the more reason to get rid of them before we find out.”

“Agreed,” said Delegate Urulan, an elegant gentlemen with just enough of a thickened brow to keep the simian vote. “The planet holds trillions of them. Should we let our votes be outnumbered a thousand to one by microscopic ‘people'? My people won't stand for it.”

Though none of this surprised her, a chill ran up her neck. In all our fine clothes, she thought, how little separates us from barbarity. She whispered to recognize the Delegate Sharer, whose seat came alight.

“I will not dignify these arguments with the response they deserve,” began the Sharer coldly. “To be outnumbered a thousand to one is nothing new to
my
people. The Sharers of Shora have never, and will never, countenance ecocide.” She raised her webbed hand, and its color drained white, the sign of a solemn vow. “If Prokaryon must die, I myself will lead our witnessers to share its death.”

At that, the Delegate Elysium turned rigid, though he should have expected as much. Not that a few dead fish-women would disturb him, but it would be a public embarrassment. “You just wait,” he exclaimed. “We'll declare open asylum for immigrants. You can house them all on your rafts.”

“The Honorable Delegate will excuse me, but he is out of order,” Verid interposed. “Delegate Sentient.”

The “lamppost” spoke. “Of course I agree with the
Honorable Delegate Sharer. Sentient intelligence is to be recognized—
'in any form it shall appear.'
Those are the words of our constitution. Size is no object—creatures of nanoplast have been recognized as sentient, some as large as entire planets, others as small as insects.”

That was true. It was also true, though, that microscopic nanoservos were excluded, by a little-known provision of the treaty.

“I propose a countermotion,” added the lamppost. “Let the Secretary test the microzoöids for sentience.”

Verid nodded, feeling relief; the countermotion had come as planned. “Let all of us first have their say on the first motion. Delegate L'li.”

The L'liite frowned at the Delegate Elysium. “The will of my people is deeply mixed. Indeed, we have to support any measure that opens land for our settlers. Yet ‘ecocide' goes against our deepest traditions. Besides, we cannot help but question the economic logic behind this motion. To sterilize Pavonis Three, by a white hole out of deep space, will cost the Fold trillions of credits. A smaller sum could rid my homeworld of the prions that have claimed billions of lives.”

As opposed to one dead dog—he might as well have said it aloud. Verid was impressed. She told her internal nanoservos to arrange a private meeting with him.

“You're all dreaming,” exclaimed the Delegate Solaris. “These are
microbes
we're talking about; microbes that have already escaped within starship passengers, the nine out of ten that
didn't
get sick. They could be hiding
any-where in the Fold.”
He jumped up and spread his hands. “What difference does it make, if we do kill off their planet? They're microbes, with a generation time of only a day. Wherever they are, they'll take over.”

Verid observed, “It would make a big difference, I
think, if you were a microbe—and you knew who had killed all your family.”

“Nonsense,” countered Delegate Elysium. “When you have a plague, you wipe out the main source, then control the rest. We can find them now; the silicate test has revealed all the carriers.”

The seat lighted for the Delegate Bronze Sky. “Are you sure?” The woman rubbed her chin reflectively. “The same researchers who gave us the silicate test believe the disease is intelligent. Smart enough to control all its own animals and plants—even the weather. Think about it. Even ordinary diseases mutate to avoid our tests and cures. We can barely rid a planet of prions, which are mere protein. A disease with intelligence to guide it—perhaps its own ‘research program'—will surely come up with novel defenses of its own. To say nothing of malice and retribution. The misery of ordinary disease is a by-product, an afterthought of its own survival needs. But these, intelligent microbes, what if they contemplate . . . revenge?”

No one had an answer. The delegates sat on in silence. Server arms snaked a cup of water to one, then another.

“What becomes of a pathogen when its host dies?” asked Verid. “What if the microzoöids
need
us alive? Even among ordinary pathogens, the most successful eventually mutate to coexist with the host—millions on our skin, and billions in our intestine. What of an intelligent pathogen who remembers its history and values its host? Our only fatality, so far, is a dead dog.” She closed her eyes, thinking, Iras, forgive me.

“Good point,” said Delegate Bronze Sky. “At present, we have the upper hand, because they—these ‘microzoöids' need to figure out how to use human bodies as hosts without killing us unnecessarily. If we make contact now, they will be well-disposed to share all kinds of information about
themselves. Newly discovered peoples love to show off.”

Verid listened hopefully.

“So doesn't it make sense to authorize the Secretary to test their sentience now? When we have the most to gain?” The Bronze Skyan leaned forward. “Let us pass
both
motions: To contact the microzoöids, and to mobilize a white hole to completely sterilize the planet. Mobilization will take six months, at least; enough time for our medics to come up with defenses, and decide whether destruction is necessary.”

And enough time to get the deadly decision postponed or canceled. Verid nodded to herself.

“And enough time for those microbes to take over every planet in the Fold!” Delegate Elysium shook his head. “The white hole won't take six months, only a week. It was mobilized from the beginning, to prepare for just such a contingency.”

Verid was shocked. Loris should not have known about the white hole; it was the most highly classified information in the Fold. Who else knew of it, the secret compromise behind the founding of Prokaryon? Someone, she thought bitterly, had been waiting all this time for the excuse.

“Let's get it over with,” said Delegate Valedon. “Eliminate the worst of the contagion, while we still can. We've found all the carriers—isolate them, and study the pathogen.”

“Eliminate the carriers, too,” said Delegate Urulan. “Station and all. They all signed the release.”

Delegates Elysium and Valedon looked scandalized, as if to say,
they
were not so barbarous.

“I can't believe my ears,” exclaimed the Solarian. “Sterilize a world without a public hearing?”

“It's a crisis. We'll invoke emergency powers.”

“To destroy a world before you understand it—such
impatience,” observed the Sentient. “How typical of humans.”

“Delegate L'li,” Verid insisted. “What is your view? Should we not take more time?”

The L'liite looked down, clearly troubled. “I'm afraid I must agree that the source of infection needs to be destroyed. In retrospect, I only wish we had done the same with the prions. The prions first appeared in a remote mountain village. Had we cleared the village then, and quarantined those infected, we would be far better off today.” He looked up at Verid. “I do agree with the Honorable Delegate Bronze Sky. Let the Secretary make contact, and learn what we can in a week's time. If we turn up anything new . . .” He did not finish.

“Delegate Bronze Sky.” Verid kept her voice level. “Did you intend to leave the Secretary only a week's time to test the microzoöid people?”

The Bronze Skyan considered in silence. With Delegates Sharer, Sentient, and Solarian, she could cast the fourth vote for reprieve, and Verid would break the tie. “The generation time of the microzoöids is only a day,” she said at last. “Seven generations should give them enough time to convince us why we should save them.” She clasped her hands before her. “I will support both motions—on condition that we meet again, in seven days, to confirm our vote to activate the white hole.”

Seven days for Verid to convince the microzoöids she was their best friend, then watch their world die—unless she turned up something to change the vote of the L'liite or the Bronze Skyan.

“We'll give you two extra days first, to reach Prokaryon on the transfold express,” offered Delegate Elysium. “I'll pick up the cost.”

Verid's hands shook. “What if they fight back? Those
storms they cause—do you know what kind of energy that takes?”

“All the more reason to act now,” said the Bronze Skyan.

“I can't do it,” Verid said. “I have a conflict of interest.” They all knew about Iras.

The Sharer said, “You have to, Verid. Because no one else can.”

I
nto the clearing in the singing-tree forest a lightcraft descended, seeking to land away from the tumblerounds. Rod saw that it was Quark.

“I'm impressed,” he told Quark. “You said you'd never touch this world again.”

“Somebody had to do it,” Quark grumbled. “I told them you all ought to wear skinsuits, but they said it was too late to avoid contamination, and that your microzoöids sound friendly.
Friendly
, indeed.”

Rod was suddenly aware of the state he was in. Before, he always wore his robe, and the children their best outfits neatly washed and combed, to visit the satellite. Now the three of them wore travel clothes soiled with tumbleround glue. It was a wonder the lightcraft allowed their feet to touch its nanoplast. “Thanks for coming for us, so many times,” said Rod softly. “I'll remember.”

The nanoplastic entrance to the lightcraft melded shut. That was it, Rod thought; he might never set foot on Prokaryon again. He held Haemum and Chae close, as together they watched the swirl of Spirilla spiral away, and the planet shrink to moon size in the void.
Farewell, Architeuthis
. . . He felt vaguely angry at the Reverend Mother's stories. Was it right to make a myth out of those one's own race chose to destroy?