"Yes. I'm not sure she really belongs here."
"Every young doctor thinks the same," said the medicouncilor kindly.
"Usually they wait until their term is nearly up before they suggest
that she'd respond better if she were returned to normal society. I
think I know what response they have in mind." Thorton smiled in a
fatherly fashion. "No offense, doctor, but it happens so often I'm
thinking of inserting a note in our briefing program. Something to the
effect that the new medical director should avoid the beautiful and
self-possessed moron."
"Is she stupid?" asked Cameron stubbornly. "It's my impression that
she's not."
"Clever with her hands," agreed the medicouncilor. "People in her
mental classification, which is very low, sometimes are. But don't
confuse manual dexterity with intelligence. For one thing she doesn't
have the brain structure for the real article.
"She's definitely not normal. She can't talk or hear, and never will.
Her larynx is missing and though we could replace it, it wouldn't
help if we did. We'd have to change her entire brain structure to
accommodate it and we're not that good at the present."
"I was thinking about the nerve dissimilarities," began Cameron.
"A superior mutation, is that what you were going to say? You can
forget that. It's much more of an anomaly, in the nature of cleft
palates, which were once common--poor pre-natal nutrition or traumas.
These we can correct rather easily but Nona is surgically beyond us.
There always is something beyond us, you know." The medicouncilor
glanced at the chronometer beside him.
Cameron saw the time too but continued. It ought to be settled. It
would do no good to bring up Helen Keller; the medicouncilor would
use that evidence against him. The Keller techniques had been studied
and reinterpreted for Nona's benefit. That much was in her medical
record. They had been tried on Nona, and they hadn't worked. It made no
difference that he, Cameron, thought there were certain flaws in the
way the old techniques had been applied. Thorton would not allow that
the previous practitioners could have been wrong. "I've been wondering
if we haven't tried to force her to conform. She can be intelligent
without understanding what we say or knowing how to read and write."
"How?" demanded the medicouncilor. "The most important tool humans
have is language. Through this we pass along all knowledge." Thorton
paused, reflecting. "Unless you're referring to this Gland Opera stuff
you mentioned. I believe you are, though personally I prefer to call it
Rhine Opera."
"I've been thinking of that," admitted Cameron. "Maybe if there was
someone else like her she wouldn't need to talk the way we do. Anyway
I'd like to make some tests, with your permission. I'll need some new
equipment."
The medicouncilor found the sheet he'd been looking for from time
to time. He creased it absently. "Go ahead with those tests if it
will make you feel better. I'll personally approve the requisition.
It doesn't mean you'll get everything you want. Others have to sign
too. However you ought to know you're not the first to think she's
telepathic or something related to that phenomena."
"I've seen that in the record too. But I think I can be the first one
to prove it."
"I'm glad you're enthusiastic. But don't lose sight of the main
objective. Even if she _is_ telepathic, and so far as we're concerned
she's not, would she be better suited to life outside?"
He had one answer--but the medicouncilor believed in another. "Perhaps
you're right. She'll have to stay here no matter what happens."
"She will. It would solve your problems if you could break up the
group, but don't count on it. You'll have to learn to manage them as
they are."
"I'll see that they don't cause any trouble," said Cameron.
"I'm sure you will." The medicouncilor's manner didn't ooze confidence.
"If you need help we can send in reinforcements."
"I don't anticipate that much difficulty," said Cameron hastily. "I'll
keep them running around in circles."
"Confusion is the best policy," agreed the medicouncilor. He unfolded
the sheet and looked down at it. "Oh yes, before it's too late I'd
better tell you I'm sending details of new treatments for a number of
deficients----"
The picture collapsed into meaningless swirls of color. For an instant
the voice was distinguishable again before it too was drowned by noise.
"Did you understand what I said, doctor? If it isn't clear contact me.
Deviation can be fatal."
"I can't keep the ship in focus," said the robot. "If you wish to
continue the conversation it will have to be relayed through the
nearest main station. At present that's Mars."
It was inconvenient to wait several minutes for each reply. Besides the
medicouncilor couldn't or wouldn't help him. He wanted the status quo
maintained; nothing else would satisfy him. It was the function of the
medical director to see that it was. "We're through," said Cameron.
He sat there after the telecom clicked off. What were the deficients
the medicouncilor had talked about? A subdivision of the accidentals
of course, but it wasn't a medical term he was familiar with. Probably
a semi-slang description. The medicouncilor had been associated with
accidentals so long that he assumed every doctor would know at once
what he meant.
Deficients. Mentally Cameron turned the word over. If it was
used accurately it could indicate only one thing. He'd see when
the medicouncilor's report came in. He could always ask for more
information if it wasn't clear.
The doctor got heavily to his feet--and he actually was heavier. It
wasn't a psychological reaction. He made a mental note of it. He'd have
to investigate the gravity surge.
In a way accidentals were pathetic, patchwork humans, half or quarter
men and women, fractional organisms which masqueraded as people. The
illusion died hard for them, harder than that which remained of their
bodies, and those bodies were unbelievably tough. Medicine and surgery
were partly to blame. Techniques were too good or not good enough,
depending on the viewpoint--doctor or patient.
Too good in that the most horribly injured person, if he were found
alive, could be kept alive. Not good enough because a certain per cent
of the injured couldn't be returned to society completely sound and
whole. The miracles of healing were incomplete.
There weren't many humans who were broken beyond repair, but though
the details varied in every respect, the results were monotonously
the same. For the most part disease had been eliminated. Everyone was
healthy--except those who'd been hurt in accidents and who couldn't be
resurgeried and regenerated into the beautiful mold characteristic of
the entire population. And those few were sent to the asteroid.
They didn't like it. They didn't like being _confined_ to Handicap
Haven. They were sensitive and they didn't want to go back. They knew
how conspicuous they'd be, hobbling and crawling among the multitudes
of beautiful men and women who inhabited the planets. The accidentals
didn't want to return.
What they did want was ridiculous. They had talked about, hoped, and
finally embodied it in a petition. They had requested rockets to make
the first long hard journey to Alpha and Proxima Centauri. Man was
restricted to the solar system and had no way of getting to even the
nearest stars. They thought they could break through the barrier. Some
accidentals would go and some would remain behind, lonelier except for
their share in the dangerous enterprise.
It was a particularly uncontrollable form of self-deception. They were
the broken people, without a face they could call their own, who wore
their hearts not on their sleeves but in a blood-pumping chamber, those
without limbs or organs--or too many. The categories were endless. No
accidental was like any other.
The self-deception was vicious precisely because the accidentals _were_
qualified. Of all the billions of solar citizens _they alone could make
the long journey there and return_. But there were other factors that
ruled them out. It was never safe to discuss the first reason with them
because the second would have to be explained. Cameron himself wasn't
sadistic and no one else was interested enough to inform them.
2
Docchi sat beside the pool. It would be pleasant if he could forget
where he was. It was pastoral though not quite a scene from Earth. The
horizon was too near and the sky was shallow and only seemed to be
bright. Darkness lurked outside.
A small tree stretched shade overhead. Waves lapped and made gurgling
sounds against the banks. But there was no plant life of any kind, and
no fish swam in the liquid. It looked like water but wasn't--the pool
held acid. And floating in it, all but submerged, was a shape. The
records in the hospital said it was a woman.
"Anti, they turned us down," said Docchi bitterly.
"What did you expect?" rumbled the creature in the pool. Wavelets of
acid danced across the surface, stirred by her voice.
"I didn't expect that."
"You don't know the Medicouncil very well."
"I guess I don't." He stared sullenly at the fluid. It was faintly
blue. "I have the feeling they didn't consider it, that they held the
request for a time and then answered no without looking at it."
"Now you're beginning to learn. Wait till you've been here as long as I
have."
Morosely he kicked an anemic tuft of grass. Plants didn't do well here
either. They too were exiled, far from the sun, removed from the soil
they originated in. The conditions they grew in were artificial. "Why
did they turn us down?" said Docchi.
"Answer it yourself. Remember what the Medicouncil is like. Different
things are important to them. The main thing is that we don't have to
follow their example. There's no need to be irrational even though they
are."
"I wish I knew what to do," said Docchi. "It meant so much to us."
"We can wait, outlast the attitude," said Anti, moving slowly. It was
the only way she could move. Most of her bulk was beneath the surface.
"Cameron suggested waiting." Reflectively Docchi added: "It's true we
are biocompensators."
"They always bring in biocompensation," muttered Anti restlessly. "I'm
getting tired of that excuse. Time passes just as slow."
"But what else is there? Shall we draw up another request?"
"Memorandum number ten? Let's not be naive. Things get lost when we
send them to the Medicouncil. Their filing system is in terrible shape."
"Lost or distorted," grunted Docchi angrily. The grass he'd kicked
already had begun to wilt. It wasn't hardy in this environment. Few
things were.
"Maybe we ought to give the Medicouncil a rest. I'm sure they don't
want to hear from us again."
Docchi moved closer to the pool. "Then you think we should go ahead
with the plan we discussed before we sent in the petition? Good. I'll
call the others together and tell them what happened. They'll agree
that we have to do it."
"Then why call them? More talk, that's all. Besides I don't see why we
should warn Cameron what we're up to."
Docchi glanced at her worriedly. "Do you think someone would report it?
I'm certain everyone feels as I do."
"Not everyone. There's bound to be dissent," said Anti placidly. "But I
wasn't thinking of people."
"Oh that," said Docchi. "We can block that source any time we need to."
It was a relief to know that he could trust the accidentals. Unanimity
was important and some of the reasons weren't obvious.
"Maybe you can and maybe you can't," said Anti. "But why make it
difficult, why waste time?"
Docchi got up awkwardly but he wasn't clumsy once he was on his feet.
"I'll get Jordan. I know I'll need arms."
"Depends on what you mean," said Anti.
"Both," said Docchi, smiling. "We're a dangerous weapon."
She called out as he walked away. "I'll see you when you leave for far
Centauri."
"Sooner than that, Anti. Much sooner."
Stars were beginning to wink. Twilight brought out the shadows and
tracery of the structure that supported the transparent dome overhead.
Soon controlled slow rotation would bring near darkness to this side of
the asteroid. The sun was small at this distance but even so it was a
tie to the familiar scenes of Earth. Before long it would be lost.
* * * * *
Cameron leaned back and looked speculatively at the gravity engineer,
Vogel. The engineer could give him considerable assistance. There was
no reason why he shouldn't but anyone who voluntarily had remained
on the asteroid as long as Vogel was a doubtful quantity. He didn't
distrust him, the man was strange.
"I've been busy trying to keep the place running smoothly. I hope you
don't mind that I haven't been able to discuss your job at length,"
said the doctor, watching him closely.
"Naw, I don't mind," said Vogel. "Medical directors come and go. I stay
on. It's easier than getting another job."
"I know. By now you should know the place pretty well. I sometimes
think you could do my work with half the trouble."
"Ain't in the least curious about medicine and never bothered to
learn," grunted Vogel. "I keep my stuff running and that's all. I
don't interfere with nobody and they don't come around and get friendly
with me."
Cameron believed it. The statement fit the personality. He needn't be
concerned about fraternization. "There are a few things that puzzle
me," he began. "That's why I called you in. Usually we maintain about
half Earth-normal gravity. Is that correct?"
The engineer nodded and grunted assent.
"I'm not sure why half gravity is used. Perhaps it's easier on the
weakened bodies of the accidentals. Or there may be economic factors.
Either way it's not important as long as half gravity is what we get."
"You want to know why we use that figure?"
"If you can tell me without getting too technical, yes. I feel I should
learn everything I can about the place."
The engineer warmed up, seeming to enjoy himself. "Ain't no reason
except the gravity units themselves," Vogel said. "Theoretically we can
get anything we want. Practically we take whatever comes out, anything
from a quarter to full Earth gravity."
"You have no control over it?" This contradicted what he'd heard. His
information was that gravity generators were the product of an awesome
bit of scientific development. It seemed inconceivable that they should
be so haphazardly directed.
"Sure we got control," answered the engineer, grinning. "We can
turn them off or on. If gravity varies, that's too bad. We take the
fluctuation or we don't get anything."
Cameron frowned; the man knew what he was doing or he wouldn't be
here. His position was of only slightly less importance than that of
the medical director--and where it mattered the Medicouncil wouldn't
tolerate incompetence. And yet----
The engineer rumbled on. "You were talking how the generators were
designed especially for the asteroid. Some fancy medical reason why
it's easier on the accidentals to have a lesser gravity plus a certain
amount of change. Me, I dunno. I guess the designers couldn't help what
was built and the reason was dug up later."
Cameron concealed his irritation. He wanted information, not a heart
to heart confession. Back on Earth he _had_ been told it was for
the benefit of the accidentals. He'd reserved judgment then and saw
no reason not to do so now. "All practical sciences try to justify
what they can't escape but would like to. Medicine, I'm sure, is no
exception."
He paused thoughtfully. "I understand there are three separate
generators on the asteroid. One runs for forty-five minutes while two
are idle. When the first one stops another one cuts in. The operations
are supposed to be synchronized. I don't have to tell you that they're
not. Not long ago you felt your weight increase suddenly. I know I did.
What is wrong?"
"Nothing wrong," said the engineer soothingly. "You get fluctuations
while one generator is running. You get a gravity surge when one
generator is supposed to drop out but doesn't. The companion machine
adds to it, that's all."
"They're supposed to be that way? Overlapping so that for a time we
have Earth or Earth and a half gravity?"
"Better than having none," said Vogel with heavy pride. "Used to happen
quite often, before I came. You can ask any of the old timers. I fixed
that though."
He didn't like the direction his questions were taking him. "What did
you do?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," said the engineer uncomfortably. "Nothing I can think of. I
guess the machines just got used to having me around."
There were people who tended to anthropomorphize anything they came
in contact with and Vogel was one of them. It made no difference to
him that he was talking about insensate machines. He would continue to
endow them with personality. "This is the best you can say, that we'll
get a wild variation of gravity, sometimes none?"
"It's not _supposed_ to work that way but nobody's ever done better
with a setup like this," said Vogel defensively. "If you want you can
check the company that makes these units."
"I'm not trying to challenge your knowledge and I'm not anxious to make
myself look silly. I do want to make sure I don't overlook anything.
You see, I think there's a possibility of sabotage."
The engineer's grin was wider than the remark required.
Cameron swiveled the chair around and leaned on the desk. "All right,"
he said tiredly, "tell me why the idea of sabotage is so funny."
"It would have to be someone living here," said the big engineer. "He
wouldn't like it if it jumped up to nine G, which it could. I think
he'd let it alone. But there are better reasons. Do you know how each
gravity unit is put together?"
"Not in detail."
The gravity generating unit was not a unit. It was built in three
parts. First there was a power source, which could be anything as long
as it supplied ample energy. The basic supply on the asteroid was a
nuclear pile, buried deep in the core. Handicap Haven would have to be
taken apart, stone by stone, before it could be reached.
Part two were the gravity coils, which actually originated and directed
the gravity. They were simple and very nearly indestructible. They
could be destroyed but they couldn't be altered and still produce the
field.
The third part was the control unit, the real heart of the gravity
generating system. It calculated the relationship between the power
flowing through the coils and the created field in any one microsecond.
It used the computed relationship to alter the power flowing in
the next microsecond to get the same gravity. If the power didn't
change the field died instantly. The control unit was thus actually a
computer, one of the best made, accurate and fast beyond belief.
The engineer rubbed his chin. "Now I guess you can see why it doesn't
always behave as we want it to."
He looked questioningly at Cameron, expecting a reply. "I'm afraid I
can't," said the doctor.
"If it was one of your patients you'd understand," said Vogel.
"Fatigue. The gravity control unit is an intricate computer and it gets
tired. It has to rest an hour and a half to do forty-five minutes work.
It can't keep running all the time any more than any delicate machine
can. It has to be shut down to clear the circuits.
"Naturally they don't want anyone tinkering with it. It's sealed and
non-repairable. Crack the case open and it disintegrates. But first
you've got to open it. Now I know that it can be done, but not without
a lot of high-powered equipment that I could detect if it was anywhere
on the asteroid."
In spite of the engineer's attitude it didn't seem completely
foolproof. But Cameron had to admit that it was probable none of the
accidentals could tamper with it. "I'll forget about gravity," he said.
"Next, what about hand weapons? What's available?"
"Nothing. No knives even. Maybe a stray bar or so of metal." Vogel
scratched his head. "There is something that's dangerous though. I
dunno whether you could classify it as a weapon."
Cameron was instantly alert. "If it's dangerous someone can find a way
to use it. What is it?"
"The asteroid itself. Nobody can physically touch any part of the
gravity system. But I've often wondered if an impulse couldn't be
squeezed into the computer. If anybody can do that he can change
direction of the field." Vogel's voice was grave. "Somebody could pick
up Handicap Haven and throw it anywhere he wanted. At Earth, say.
Thirty miles in diameter is a big hunk of rock."
This was the kind of information Cameron had been looking for, though
the big engineer seemed to regard the occasion as merely a long overdue
social call. "What's the possibility?"
Vogel grinned. "Thought I'd scare you. Used to wake up sweating myself.
Got so bad I had to find out about it."
"Can or can't it be done?" demanded the doctor.
"Naw. It's too big to take a chance with. They got monitors set up all
over, moons of Jupiter, Mars, Earth, Venus. This or any other gravity
computer gets dizzy, the monitor overrides it. If that fails they send
a jammer impulse and freeze it up tight. It can't get away until the
monitor lets loose."
Cameron's mind was already busy elsewhere. Vogel was loquacious
and would talk all night if encouraged. It wasn't that he lacked
information but he had no sense of what was important. "You don't know
how you've helped me," the doctor said, standing up. "We'll have to get
together again."
He watched the engineer depart for the gravity generating chamber
below the surface of the asteroid. The day had started badly and
wasn't getting better. Docchi to Thorton to Vogel. All the shades of
shortsightedness, the convalescent's, authority's, and finally the
technician who refused to see beyond his dials. A fine progression, but
somewhere the curve ought to turn upward.
The post on Handicap Haven wasn't pleasant but there were
advantages--advancement was proportional to the disagreeableness of the
place. After shepherding accidentals for a year any other assignment
would be a snap. Ten months to go before the year was over and if
Cameron could survive with nothing to mar his administration he was
in line for something better, definitely better. This was where the
Medicouncil sent promising young doctors.
Cameron flipped on the telecom. "Connect me with the rocket dome. Get
the pilot."
When the robot answered it wasn't encouraging. "There's no answer. I'm
sorry. I'll notify you when he comes in."
"Trace him," he snapped. "If he's not near the rocket he's somewhere in
the main dome. I don't care how you do it, get him."
A few seconds of silence followed. The answer was puzzling. "There's no
record that the pilot has left the rocket dome."
His heart skipped and his breathing was constricted. He spoke
carefully. "Scan the whole area. Look every place, even if you think he
can't be there. I've got to have the pilot."
"Scanning isn't possible. The system is out of operation in that area.
I'm trying to check why."
That was bad. He could feel muscles tighten that he didn't know he had.
"All right. Send out repair robots." They'd get the job done--they
always did. But they were intolerably slow and just now he needed speed.
"Mobile repair units were dispatched as soon as scanning failed to
work. Is this an emergency? If so I can alert the staff."
He thought about it. He needed help, plenty of it. But was there any
one he could depend on? Vogel? He'd probably be ready for action. But
to call on him would leave the gravity generating plant unprotected.
And if he told the engineer what he suspected, Vogel would insist on
mixing in with it. He was too vital where he was.
Who else? The sour middle-aged nurse who'd signed up because she
wanted quick credits toward retirement? She slept through most of her
shift and considering her efficiency perhaps it was just as well she
did. Or the sweet young trainee--her diploma said she'd completed her
training, but you couldn't lie to a doctor--who had bravely volunteered
because someone ought to help poor unfortunate men? Not a word about
women of course. She always walked in when Cameron was examining a
patient, male, but she had the deplorable habit of swooning when she
saw blood. Fainting was too vulgar for her and, as Cameron had once
told her, so was the profession of her choice.
These were the people the emergency signal would alert. He would do
better to rely on robots. They weren't much help but at least they
wouldn't get hysterically in his way. Oh yes, there was the pilot too,
but he couldn't be located.
The damned place was undermanned and always had been. Nobody wanted to
be stationed here except those who were mildly psychotic or inefficient
and lazy. There was one exception. Ambitious young doctors had been
known to ask for the position. Mentally Cameron berated himself.
Ambition wasn't far from psychosis, or at times it could produce
results as bad. If anything serious happened here he'd begin and end
his career bandaging scratches at a children's playground.
"This is not an emergency," he said. "However leave word in gravity
with Vogel. Tell him to put on his electronic guards. I don't want him
to let anyone get near the place."
"Is that all?"
"Send out six geepees. I'll pick them up near the entrance to the
rocket dome."
"Repair robots are already in the area. Will they do as well?"
"They won't. I want general purpose robots for another reason. Send the
latest huskiest models we have." They were not bright but they were
strong and could move fast. He clicked off the picture. What did he
have to be afraid of? For the most part they were a beaten ragged bunch
of humans. He would feel sorry for them if he wasn't apprehensive about
his future.
3
Docchi waited near the rocket dome. He wasn't hiding but he did make
himself inconspicuous among the carefully nurtured shrubbery. Plants
failed to give the illusion of an Earth landscape--in part because some
of them were Venusian or Martian imports--but at least the greenery
added to the oxygen supply of the asteroid.
"That's a good job," commented Docchi. "I thought Nona could do it."
Jordan could feel him relax as he watched the event. "A mechanical
marvel," he agreed. "But we can gab about that later. I think you ought
to get going."
Docchi glanced around and then went boldly into the passageway that
connected the main dome with the much smaller rocket dome that was
adjacent to it. Normally it was never completely dark in the inhabited
part of the asteroid, modulated twilight was considered more conducive
to the slumber of the grievously infirm. It was the benevolent
Medicouncil's theory that a little light would keep away bad dreams.
But this wasn't twilight as they neared the rocket dome. It was a full
scale rehearsal for the darkness of interstellar space.
Docchi stopped at the emergency airlock which loomed formidably solid
in front of them. "Let's hope," he said. "We can forget about it if
Nona didn't manage to cut _this_ out of the circuit."
"She seemed to understand, didn't she? What more do you want?" Jordan
twisted around Docchi and reached out. The great slab moved easily
in the grooves. It was open. "The trouble with you is that you lack
confidence, in yourself and in genius."
Docchi didn't answer. He was listening intently, trying to interpret
the faint sounds ahead of him.
"Okay, I hear it," whispered Jordan. "Let's get way inside before he
comes near us."
Docchi went cautiously into the darkness of the rocket dome, feeling
his way. He'd never recover in time if he stumbled and fell. He tried
to force the luminescence into his face. Occasionally he could control
his altered metabolism, and now was the time he needed it.
He was nervous and that hindered his accuracy. He couldn't be sure
the light was right, enough so that he'd be noticed, not so much that
the details of his appearance would be plain. He wished he could ask
Jordan, but Jordan was in no position to tell him.
The footsteps came nearer and so did profanity, rich in volume but
rather meager in imaginative symbolism. Docchi flashed his face
once, as bright as he could manage, and then lowered the intensity
immediately.