"Simplify it. Toss out the smaller ones until only fifteen are left."
There was no real reason for selecting that figure, none but this: in
her dazed condition she'd have time for one glance. If it wasn't there,
it just wasn't.
Jordan complied, exceedingly dextrous when he had to be, though more
than dexterity was involved. Visual comparison had to suffice and it
was never harder to make. "That look about right?" asked Jordan when he
finished.
"It should be one of them," said Docchi. He was guessing. They both
knew they were. The capsules were set near Jeriann, about the size of
a man's fist. One of them, the one for Jeriann, was remarkably small
considering it had to supply the total needs of a human body. For a
fraction of a day only, a fourth or a sixth, but even so it was little.
She must be always hungry. It would never do to mention food to her.
Jordan raised her up gently, tilting her limp body so she could see
what she had to choose from. He glanced at Docchi for confirmation and
then began to slap her. Still the consciousness was buried deep. He hit
her harder until breath ran shudderingly into her lungs. "Which one?"
he asked quickly, as soon as her eyes flickered open, running over the
array of capsules.
He grabbed the one she seemed to indicate, holding it closer. "Is this
it?" Her eyes dropped shut and she couldn't answer. Jordan laid her
down. He wiped his hands on the sacklike garment. "She recognized this
one," he said, not looking at Docchi.
So she had, but was it recognition of something that was _hers_? "I
could see that. We'll give it to her."
"Should I sterilize it or something?"
Jordan wanted to delay because he wasn't sure. And they couldn't delay,
even if it was the wrong thing. It might be like giving sugar to a
person in a diabetic coma, the certain way of finishing him off faster.
And yet with Jeriann it had to be done. Actually very little time had
elapsed since they found her, five or ten minutes. What they didn't
know was how long she'd lain there.
Docchi shook his head. "The absorption capsule was meant to be
administered under any condition. Outside of puncturing it and
squirting in a virus culture there's no way to harm it. It's
self-sterilizing."
"I forgot," said Jordan. "Where'll I give it to her?"
"Anywhere. Oh, I guess maybe her thigh. It may sink in faster since
she's gone so long without."
Jordan brushed her skirt up and carefully peeled off the film on one
side, making certain the exposed surface didn't come in contact with
his hand. The capsule contracted as the film came off, rhythmically
writhing. The shape changed too; it was like nothing so much as a giant
amoeba. Quickly Jordan thrust the raw surface of the squirming thing on
Jeriann's thigh. It was not alive but it was capable of motion and it
moved a quarter of an inch before it adhered.
It stuck there. It was one with the girl, it _was_ her; and the correct
injection or not it couldn't be removed. The fluid in that pseudobody
was being injected into Jeriann through the countless pores it
covered--through her skin without a puncture. It was no wonder her skin
was radiantly beautiful--five times a day an area of ten to fifteen
square inches. In a short time her body would be covered, and she never
could use the same place on successive days. She achieved clarity and
flawlessness of complexion, but at a price. At a price.
Jordan wiped his forehead. "Shouldn't we be seeing some results?" he
said anxiously.
"It has a long way to go," Docchi assured him. "Into her bloodstream
and to her muscles and glands, to her brain. In a minute now if we
don't see some results we'll know we've failed."
They waited.
8
Docchi slumped in the chair, looking the place over with some
satisfaction. The medical inventory was proceeding quite well; one by
one each preparation was being identified and the local source checked.
It wasn't nearly as bad as he had assumed at first; they were nearly
self-sufficient.
One of the checkers came in. Docchi recognized her vaguely; he'd seen
her around but that was all. He didn't know who she was nor what she
did. Unless he was mistaken her arms and legs were her own, a trifle
heavy but shapely enough. If there was anything about her that was
camouflaged with plastic tissue it was her face--the sullen glamour was
an exaggeration of nature and moreover her expression didn't change
at all as she came nearer. There must be something with her face that
couldn't be corrected surgically and so she'd overcompensated.
"We've got it all done," she said in a flat throaty voice. Glamour
there too, in about the same degree.
"What?" he said. "Oh yes, the check of the biologicals. All
identified?" He recalled her name, Maureen something or other.
"Everything that people claimed. There was some that no one knew what
it was. Useless I suppose, or worse. It ought to be destroyed."
That was a logical assumption any time save now. Medicine was precious
and had to be hoarded even if they didn't know what it was. "Save it,
Maureen. Sooner or later someone will be in for it."
"They've all been in. You don't know how they rushed here when they
learned the dispensary had been ransacked by the guards." She smiled
with faint disdain.
He was beginning to doubt whether her expression came out of the
cosmetic kit; it was applied with extraordinary skill if it had,
flexible enough to allow her to smile without seeming strained. But
if it actually was her face it was monotonous. How long could she
keep up the glamour? "Don't be condescending, Maureen. Of course they
were concerned. There are people who need those preparations to live
comfortably, some in order to live at all."
"I know," she said. "I've personally contacted all the regular
deficients."
She seemed to know more about it than he did. There was a fraternity of
the ailing and degrees of confraternity. Within the accidentals there
were special groups, allied by the common nature of their infirmity.
It was possible she belonged to some such group or knew someone who
did. The latter probably; there seemed to be nothing seriously wrong
with her. "What do you suppose happened? Why is there some left?" said
Docchi. "If everyone's been here all of it ought to be accounted for."
"They're always experimenting," said Maureen.
"Who?"
"Doctors," she said. "They try the latest ideas out on us and if we
survive they use it on normal people."
There was some truth in it--not much, but the bitterness was there
though Earth and all it stood for was far behind. "Don't blame them.
They've got to make improvements," he said in mild reproof.
"You don't know," said Maureen. "Anyway, what I was saying is that
there is some stuff we can't place. In each case it substitutes for one
or more substances that have been in use up to now. We don't know who
it's for."
It was more serious than he thought, if only in a negative sense. He
straightened up. "How many are missing biologicals?"
"I didn't keep track accurately. Thirty or forty."
A small number compared to the total. _But thirty or forty invalids?_
And some would be affected seriously, depending on the nature of the
preparation that couldn't be traced to the person who should have it.
The man whose unaided body couldn't utilize calcium would certainly be
in for trouble but not as soon as he who couldn't make use of, say,
iron. "We'll find out," he said with a confidence he didn't altogether
feel. "There are records around and we'll look into them." There were
records but it was uncertain how complete they were after the guards
had scattered them. "Do you know where they're kept?"
She shook her head, the sullen glamorous smile transfixing her face. "I
wish I did," she said.
He was struck by the intensity. "Why?" he asked. He wanted to know too
but it wasn't an emotional thing.
"Don't you know? I'm one of them."
One of what, he was about to ask before he realized she meant she was
a deficient whose salvaged body lacked certain physiological elements.
More, she was one whose preparation couldn't be identified. "Don't
worry. It'll take us a little while to trace everything but we'll have
it straightened out in a matter of days."
"You'd better," she said, and it was not exactly a threat. There were
overtones he couldn't account for.
Before he could stop her she began loosening her dress and for the
first time he saw that she wasn't breathing, that she never did. Her
dress fluttered as the air went in and out, sleeping or waking, without
volition, responding mechanically to the needs of her bloodstream.
The breathing mechanism was hidden in her body, replacing her lungs.
Moreover it was probably connected to her speech centers in such a
way to release a certain amount to her throat when the nervous system
demanded. Perhaps it accounted for the peculiar vibrant quality of her
voice.
She pointed to the tube that was showing. "It's not just lungs I lack,"
she said. "Everyone, man or woman, manufactures both male and female
hormones, in different proportions of course. Except me. I don't
produce a single male hormone." She stared at him intently.
"Do you know what that means?" Her voice was rising, terror mingled
with something else. "Without injections in a few months I'll be
completely female. One hundred per cent woman and nothing else."
He thought he saw her grow more feminine before his eyes; reluctantly
he turned away. Theoretically the completely female person should be
repulsive, yet she wasn't. If anything, pathetic features dominated.
Pure feminity could destroy her, but how long would it take? He could
discount her own estimate as arbitrary. She had decided on it in an
attempt at self dramatization.
"You're fortunate," he said, and he couldn't keep his eyes from
straying back to her. "There are plenty of people around, both men
and women, who can be donors. There must be some way to extract the
hormones you need from the bloodstream. Our medical techniques may be
crude but we'll manage. Keep that in mind."
"I will--will you?" she asked, her lips parted, and it wasn't to
breathe because she couldn't.
He had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what she meant
and it didn't have anything to do with what he'd said. Had she even
been listening? Probably she hadn't. A pure male or female creature
didn't exist but if one should come into being it would scarcely be
human. To a human life mattered or death did but to the pure abstract
creature there was only one thing of importance.
He looked up to see her coming toward him. "I'm afraid," she said,
clasping him to her, carefully keeping the tube free and open. And she
was afraid--it was not dramatization. The studied glamour slipped from
her face. "I don't want to be like this," she whispered. "But if it
happens--help me, please." Her nearness was overpowering, and deadly.
At length she drew away. Terror left her eyes--and it had been there,
real though with other factors. Even in fear, and he was conscious of
that and her deeper design, she had planned ahead against the time she
might not be wholely human. It was something like to death to change
drastically from a thinking reasoning person to someone who could react
only to one stimulus.
"We'll see that nothing happens to you," he said with weak assurance.
"There may be a delay but it won't be long. We'll work it out."
She was regarding him fixedly and he could see she was reverting.
What he said wasn't penetrating. He cleared his throat. "You're as
familiar with the place as any of us. Look around and see if you can
find duplicate records. There may be a clue in them as to what the new
preparations are for." Clarity returned to her face as he spoke. It
would leave again and come back at decreasing intervals unless or until
the hormone deficiency was corrected. How far she could descend and
remain mentally unscathed he didn't know, nor did he want to find out.
"Don't leave until I come back. Do you understand?"
She smiled invitingly to show that perhaps she did understand what he
said. He knew now that the sullen glamour was real, and terrifying. She
couldn't help any of her responses. Docchi hurried out; so little time
had elapsed she must be nearly normal.
He thought of locking the door but there was no way to do that. The
essence of a hospital was free access at all times, and so it was
built. Besides, it wasn't a good idea to try to keep her in. Constraint
might produce violent reaction.
Docchi slanted the louvers so that the place looked vacant and let it
go at that. The best he could hope for was that Maureen wouldn't think
of leaving.
He walked away. There were villages. Planned or otherwise, over the
years dwellings and dormitories had gradually grown around three main
centers. Externally there was not much to distinguish one village from
the other except the distance from the hospital. The buildings nearest
were little more than very large machines which fed, bathed, and tried
to anticipate the intellectual stimulation of the almost helpless
tenants. The houses in the farthest village, except for certain
peculiarities, were much like any comfortable dwelling on Earth.
At the third village he found the house, glancing at the tiny light
on the door. It was glowing; the occupant was at home. The numbered
positions flashed on, indicating further that the person was awake
and in bed. This information was necessary on the asteroid where many
people suffered from some disability which might strike suddenly,
leaving them helpless and unattended. Docchi leaned against the button
and the light blinked him in.
Jeriann was sitting up in the middle of the bed; she seemed healthy and
alert. "How do you feel?" he asked as he caught a chair with his foot
and slid it near her.