[ Paul Urayama's work has recently appeared in Analog, and this thoughtful and engaging hard sf story shows why. We're very pleased to welcome him to Neverworlds, and we know you will be too. ]
I became a doctor to help people, Tob thought, trying to comfort himself as he injected the solution that let his patient die.
Here, in the lunar state Gensapori, the Release was honorable. On Earth, they called it cruel.
Tokens of accomplishment adorned the hospital room, giving it a strange, lively atmosphere. There was a family portrait showing a proud father; a championship trophy in caperball; and a pewter sculpture of a fish leaping out of a terran river, handmade by the patient.
Family members gathered in traditional garb -- orange for sacrifice, black for respect. A few cried, but the patient’s intimates appeared dry eyed and strong.
The elderly ilum, in dark gown, led a chant, its unpredictable atonalities beautiful and solemn. Occasionally, she tapped a metal bowl, simple and unpretentious. Family members struck the bowl in turn, its light tone sounding their final farewell. When the bowl reached Tob, he politely refused, as expected, for he merely assisted at this gathering.
After the ceremony, Tob and the ilum left quietly, leaving the family to talk and reminisce.
"Thank you for your guidance," Tob said to the pensive ilum.
"Their Sacrifice should not go unnoticed. It is the family you should thank." She considered Tob for a moment. "I hear you have made it through the queue."
Tob smiled. "Yes, how did you know?"
"I spoke with your wife earlier, just getting off her nursing shift. I am sure you will both do fine. Have you been examined?"
"Not yet. This afternoon, after Nami."
"Then I wish you happy results," Ilum Rhoa said. She bowed and joined the family starting to exit.
Nearby doctors and nurses bowed as the family passed. Tob did so one final time, and left to change out of uniform and join Nami in the examination, leaving death behind for the prospect of life. Tob and Nami hoped for a child.
#
Her head bumped on his shoulder, in synch with the thumping of the monorail. Quiet since the news, she stared blankly at the passing scene of Gensapori’s Inner Nishi Cavern.
Nami passed the physical examination. Tob, however, had problems.
"You have myopia and ocular hypertension," the examiner had informed him. "Myopia in itself is not grounds, but since hypertension requires constant care and predisposition for it is genetic..."
"I know, I know. I should be Remedied."
The examiner consoled him.
"I’ll be fine. I’m just worried about Nami. She was looking forward to a family, now that we’ve made it through the queue. Damn these preconception exams! It’s just ... I passed the premarital one. Are you sure?"
The examiner nodded, going over the results with Tob.
Tob and Nami Tanaka had a quiet dinner and made love that night. She initiated. They took precautions, but perhaps she hoped one of them would be lax.
The night was unforgettable, not because it was passionate, but because it would be the last time for him as a virile, fertile husband. He knew sterile sex wouldn’t be the same.
The next day’s operation, performed in a cold, stark room, was a standard outpatient procedure. Leaving his testicles intact was a concession on the part of Gensapori. Tob "volunteered" to be Remedied on a minor point, so they gave him the dignity of anatomical correctness.
Ilum Rhoa visited Tob and Nami’s humble Inner Nishi apartment. Nami was the usual ideal host, but Tob noticed in her a nebulous indifference as she brought out herbal tea and a confection made of mashed rice. The delighted ilum spoke cheerfully about her day. Nami took a seat on the sofa next to Tob and tried to be genial to their elderly guide.
When the ilum inquired about their misgivings, Nami spoke candidly, as she knew she should.
"I understand why this happened," she said. "I’m just having trouble feeling we did the right thing."
"Laws and traditions are the collective wisdom of our Founders and of our terran homeland, but yes, the Remedy is a strange one." Her brows crinkled as if reliving the loss felt by all she’d counseled in the past. "The Release and the Remedy are the two great Sacrifices. Neither are done casually, and both affirm one’s commitment to the whole."
Nami nodded half-heartedly.
"Trite rhetoric, I know, but imagine what it was like for the first Gensaporian colonists, left to fend for themselves when Earth abandoned them. Hard work, strict laws, and sacrifice -- that is how they survived. It is not so different now. We are alone, granted it is by choice, but we are self sufficient and prosperous, and its foundation lies in every citizen’s selflessness."
"It’s so frustrating. We didn’t do anything wrong."
"And you are not being punished. My child, imagine what would happen if we did away with the preconception exams and the Remedy. We don’t have the resources for unfettered growth."
"I know, but it’s not fair." A tear streamed down her face. She leaned on Tob and nodded timidly. Tob rocked gently.
"It seems laws and regulations don’t control every part of our lives. It is good to see fate is still free in matters of love," the ilum said with envy in her eye. "You will always have that."
#
"I felt that one," Pamela said.
"He’s kicking all right." Tob adjusted the ultrasound.
"He?"
"Figure of speech. I know you don’t want to know."
Tob fiddled with the probe, showing the child’s well-formed hands and feet. She sighed, relieved. Russell leaned over, holding her bare hand.
Tob stared at those hands not really believing Pamela was born without fingers. Neo-graftive surgery -- implanting embryonic cells and tricking them into limb formation -- was a miracle in developmental biology. A shame the State would never allow it.
"Pam, it’s incredible." With his finger, Russell traced his child’s image on the monitor. "Maybe I should be the one pregnant next time."
"You better. I’m not doing this again." Pamela laughed. "This is great, ouch, sort of."
Russell, pregnant? Sometimes, Tob didn’t understand Foreigners, who laughed and called the Gensaporian attitude sexist and old-fashioned, but it wasn’t a gender issue, not to Tob. It was deeper, like how incest or rape made him sick.
Tob swallowed. They were his friends.
"Everything looks fine," Tob told them.
"Define ‘fine,’" Pamela joked, getting up and massaging her back.
"Your obstetrician will be over from Eagleton in two weeks. That’s a comfortable buffer. You still have another six to go." Eagleton was a colony a day's rover-ride away.
"Very good." Russell patted Tob on the back. "And quit being so formal."
Tob bowed facetiously.
"See you tonight then."
"Of course, Nami’s looking forward to it."
#
Russell Zeigler’s penthouse overlooked Outer Minami Cavern. The Gensapori nodes, arranged on a grid of concentric circles, were craters covered in a dome of photoactive polymers. The Outers were larger, tens of kilometers in diameter, and provided a panoramic view from the upper levels.
Tob stood on the balcony, sipping his drink and adjusting his new glasses. The dome was transparent at night, so the monorail tubes connecting other nodes shone like veins pumping fluorescent blood. The city lights below and the starless sky above looked like pictures Russell showed him of nighttime Earth -- almost.
"Ha. You’re holding the picture upside-down," he remembered Russell laughing. Tob hadn’t considered that the lunar albedo and city lights would drown out all but the brightest stars. On Earth, the twinkling came from above.
The party bustled behind him. It wasn’t hard to slip away. Their closest friends knew about the Remedy and decided Nami needed comforting. Pamela tried to convince her that pregnancy wasn’t worthwhile.
Tob thought he could handle it, but suddenly felt an emptiness he wasn’t sure how to confront.
"I’m the one Remedied," he whispered. He loved home, but sometimes....
"So, here you are," Russell called from behind. His face glowed, and he wore a huge, inebriated grin. "You’re missing a whopper inside. People are asking about you."
"Like your biotech execs." No one else would miss him.
"Hey, it’s not my company, but they are important people."
On Gensapori, Russell was a mild celebrity, a charismatic Foreigner who seemed to accept and shed new light on Gensaporian ways. His family made their name in biotechnology, and that legacy sustained him though he no longer had a major part in it.
"You know were I stand," Tob said. "We can’t let them set up research here."
Russell thought for a moment, changing the subject.
"About the Remedy, you were sterilized because, what, your eyes are bad?"
"It’s more complicated than that. For one thing, I volunteered to be Remedied."
"And if you didn’t ‘volunteer’?"
Tob was silent.
"If I understand Gensaporian custom, it’s supposed to be a quiet honor -- a sacrifice for the good of the whole."
"Sure Russell. That’s it," Tob said. "Now let’s go in and see which of your friends I can insult tonight."
They laughed. Russell jabbed Tob playfully, spilling his drink in the process.
The penthouse interior was grand with a marble-floored entry. Terran neo-techno sculptures and arean rust pottery gave an intellectual air. No Gensaporian lived this well. It went against the work ethic and humble lifestyle expected of a proper citizen. Russell probably considered the decor suburban and quaint.
Tob found Nami still surrounded by friends. He motioned to where he’d be, and she nodded, mouthing the words, "Try to have fun."
Russell was off entertaining, so Tob roamed and mingled. He saw the execs and thought of walking around, but they called him over.
He knew Amanda Klein and Yoshi Ueda. Both were VP’s at ZeiglerTech. Amanda was handsome, wearing an exquisite velvet gown and an equally flamboyant black pearl necklace. Yoshi was in a gaudy silk suit, offensively decadent.
Tob bowed politely and then remembered to shake their hands. The conversation started innocently about the adventures they were having in low g. They joked about how caperball would never work on Earth.
Inevitably the topic came up. Tob glanced around the room, but Russell was nowhere near.
"Your infant mortality rate is alarming, about 10 in a 1000 births, TwenCen level, and your medical technology is obsolete. How could you not benefit from doing business with us?"
That was the standard argument.
ZeiglerTech wanted to import medical and biotechnology to Gensapori, as well as set up research facilities. If they studied Gensaporian history, they would understand the considerable resistance.
In the 2020’s, the glamour of Mars and cheaper, more economical space stations suddenly overshadowed the fledgling lunar colonies, forcing businesses to cut back on lunar expenditures. Most colonists returned to Earth or moved to stations, but Gensapori was a communal venture, and its citizens were determined to make it work.
But Gensapori’s paltry economy forced them to be self-sufficient, unable to buy what they needed from better-developed mining and ag-colonies. Survival required change. The Founders had a vision. Gensapori would be prosperous, they preached, but it demanded hard work and a group mentality. Water and minerals could be mined locally, augmented by recycling and conservation, but that wasn’t enough, so people sacrificed, and that became a way of life. Strict laws maintained order at the expense of some freedoms, but the Founders were charismatic, and their plan appeared to work.
Today, in 2077, Gensapori was a self-sufficient biosphere.
"I’m sorry. We aren’t interested in your technology," Tob said with all the politeness he could muster. "May I ask something that has always puzzled me?"
"Of course," Amanda said.
"Why us? We are a small state with hardly quarter a million inhabitants. Earth has what, ten billion? Even other lunar colonies outnumber us by an order of magnitude. Surely, selling to us is inconsequential."
The executives glanced at each other, as if to confer on an answer.
"True," she said. "I guess it’s the same reason why people explore space. It’s there. Gensapori is the last virgin market in the inner solar system."
He wasn’t satisfied, but left it at that. The topic shifted toward art and caperball, and the conversation became pleasant. Still he felt like an outsider in this circle.
The party wound down at a reasonable hour, and as usual, Tob and Nami were amongst the last to leave. They thanked the Zeiglers with hugs. Pamela complained about the discomforts of pregnancy, so Russell began massaging her neck.
That brought Nami’s spirits down again, but Tob didn’t realize until after they left. She held his arm as they walked down the lighted boulevard toward the monorail station. When he noticed her crying, he kissed her smooth black hair. She buried her face in his ample arms, gripping tighter as if forcing the tears to stop.
"I love you so much, Tob," she said. "I’m sorry for being so selfish. I should think of others. You take it so well, for the both of us."
Tob didn’t respond, feeling the sting of guilt. She thought he was strong.
While on the monorail, Tob found a note in his coat pocket. Give meaning to your Remedy. Outer Nishi, Block A7, Sunday 1 AM. Come alone.
The retail district. What could be there that late? Nami slept, leaning on him. He decided not to tell her, tearing up the note and tossing it in the recycler when they arrived home.
Tob slept poorly that night, unable to get the note out of his mind.
His Remedy did have meaning. Chronic ocular hypertension wasn’t crippling, but it required constant medical attention. His offspring would likely inherit the condition, and then they would require medical attention. It diverted resources; prevention was the rational approach.
But Nami deserved better -- a healthy man for whom she could bear children. She had good genes.
Morning came over the cavern. An electric field running through the dome activated colloidal micelles that scattered light over the city, bringing day as the dome slowly turned opalescent and bright.
As he studied her soft, gentle face, Tob reached deeper into himself; he should be proud to Sacrifice.
She would wake soon, so he went and made a breakfast of kelp shavings and rice. When he returned, she puzzled over the in-bed service. She asked if there was an occasion, but he just shrugged and smiled.
#
The monorail would log the Outer Nishi exit, but that was unavoidable. It would look more suspicious if they found him walking the tube’s footpath this late at night.
During the day, Outer Nishi bustled with pedestrians as they hopped from shop to immaculate shop. Some made it a day’s outing, a social event for the family, as they walked boulevards of manicured trees and homey cafes.
Now there was no activity, except for the occasional drone that patrolled the area at night. Streetlights were sparse, for people were expected to stay at home. Tob walked through a forest of concrete, walls monochromatic.
He had lied to Nami, saying he needed to be on call. It was a last minute assignment. She seemed to believe him, but she could easily call the hospital. Too many loose ends, but there wasn’t time to think it through.
Block A6.
This was for her sake, he decided, but that made him feel no better as he crept through the claustrophobic stillness.
Block A7. Nothing. He spun around looking for a sign. Once, twice. Nothing. Was this a trap? Ridiculous. This meeting was legal, but the note, his lie, and the odd meeting location made Tob feel criminal.
Why had he lied to her?
On his third pass, he saw the light.
A door across the street opened. Tob stood firm. A shadow emerged and waved him over. He entered cautiously. Suddenly, the room went black.
"What is this?" He wiped his mouth.
"Don’t be afraid," said a digitized female voice. They led him to a chair. He felt around, finding only a table.
"Who are you? Show yourselves!"
"In time," said a male voice, warped into an electronic falsetto. "Shall we talk?"
He nodded, but the darkness made it feel he hadn’t.The sound of something sliding over the table. "If you’re thirsty, there’s water next to your right hand," said the woman. "Good. We invited you here to offer meaning to your Remedy."
"I know why I was Remedied."
"Then why did you come?"
Silence.
"Tob -- Dr. Tanaka," said a second male voice, this one low and lethargic. "We know you understand the spirit of the law, but we also know you feel an emptiness. Don’t you think you sacrificed too much? Think of Nami."
"What about her? Who are you?"
"She was looking forward to having children." The words were slurred. "You can still have that, and help others -- help us help others."
"Gensapori is a haven, unspoiled," said the woman. "The rest of humanity needs that. How can I explain? The problems are so subtle."
In a biomedical renaissance that started back in TwenCen, scientists elucidated cellular mechanisms, designing molecular machines for the cellular world. Paramount was the engineering of an artificial chromosome filled with "fix-up" genes.
In the 2030’s, doctors inoculated the entire population with this CureAll chromosome, a misnomer of course, but it carried genes to counter the major ailments. The beauty was that one needed to be inoculated only once, for genetic information passed to progeny.
"I know. I’m familiar with history," Tob said.
"But you haven’t heard the following."
Recently, the CureAll developed problems. The technology for inserting artificial chromosomes existed since the 1990’s, so problems of robustness were thought to be conquered, but that, some argued, was not true. They speculated incompatible telomere caps, while others thought the DNA became entangled with histones, a chromosome structural protein, meaning the DNA didn’t pack properly.
Cruel mutations appeared -- malformed organs, weakened immunity, a result of "fix-it" genes activated at wrong times. Also, they discovered genes not originally designed -- the CureAll was evolving! DNA became a blueprint full of erasures and scribbles made by well-meaning outsiders.
"We thought we understood enough to cure human frailties. Isn’t that the dream of every doctor?"
No. Not to cure at all cost. What about quality of life?
But it wasn’t hopeless. Technology could help on an individual basis. "I was born with no arms," the male falsetto voice said. "But I’m fine. Sure, an arm is too much to grow, but my prosthetics give me all I need."
Tob thought of Pamela and her child. The ultrasound revealed no abnormalities, but Gensaporian medicine was behind, maybe early Twenty-first Century, at best.
"So everything is fine. You have the technology to cope."
"Not entirely. Simple economics. More than half of all births require medical attention, and that’s only at birth. Most conditions are chronic, and considering the total population ... well, medical expenditures are phenomenal."
"Why haven’t we heard of this CureAll problem? We’re not that isolated."
"It’s subtle. The CureAll works well for the most part. We are healthier than the average Gensaporian. Sounds arrogant?" She laughed. "Most back home don’t admit there’s a problem. They just keep pumping money into medical care and research."
"Good for you, no doubt. Why upset the status quo?" Tob said sarcastically.
"That’s low. Anyhow, there is a ceiling to our resources. If CureAll problems worsen, which is likely, science will be blamed. Better to own the cure to the CureAll."
"So that’s the crippling factor -- limited resources." He paused. "Reminds me of our Founders."
The three whispered to each other, then silence. Suddenly, lights flashed on. Straining, Tob saw three seated figures dressed in black, wearing masks to hide their identities. No, they wore imagers. That was how they saw in the dark.
The man on the right took off his synthesizer. "I think you understand our dilemma. Will you help us?"
"Russell." The conversation at the party made sense. "Yoshi and Amanda, I presume."
They removed their equipment.
Tob stood up. "Why?"
"I trust you," said Russell. "Your government can’t know, not until we can present proof that Gensapori can help. You know how intolerant they are of the outside."
Tob nodded.
"We need your help."
Slowly, Tob sat down, taking a long drink of water. He agreed to listen.
#
It was early morning when Russell called. His face was ghost white. Tob dressed and rushed out the door before Russell finished explaining.
"Too early," Tob kept repeating on the monorail. The Foreign doctor wasn’t due to arrive until next week. Tob handled early Gensaporian births before but wasn’t sure of the complications to expect from a Foreigner, especially after meeting with the ZeiglerTech executives.
He walked into the hospital fifteen minutes later. Pamela was in bed, panting in pain. He held her hand, wanting to give her something, but her Foreign doctor warned against analgesics available on Gensapori.
Tob checked her out, and found that she was not dilating, with contractions becoming stronger and more frequent.
"Everything will be fine. Breathe like I showed you." He motioned a nurse to assist her.
He found Russell in the hall, still pale.
"How is she? Can you deliver our baby?"
"I need to confer with Dr. Reynolds. We have to do a C-section, but I want to make sure there are no other options." He gave as reassuring a look as he could manage, and hoped that was enough.
When he got to his desk phone, Susan Reynolds was on the line, intently reading something off-screen.
"I’ve been monitoring Pamela’s progress with the reports you sent me." She spoke with vigor, contrary to her feeble appearance. "From the fetus’s progesterone plots, I thought there was another week, at least."
"The CureAll kicking in."
She flinched.
"Possibly. I’d have to run tests," she said.
"So the baby wants out and the mother’s body has its signals crossed. Can we reduce the progesterone output?"
"How? You don’t have the technology."
Tob growled. "C-section then. No other choice."
"Agreed. Careful though. I hear how you people do it. You consider it a procedure for saving the mother with no regard for the fetus. And I know Gensaporian doctors don’t specialize." She studied him for a moment. "I could do the operation remotely."
He could easily criticize her medical practices, but refrained. "No, we can manage. We’ll keep you updated." He signed off without waiting for her response.
As he scrubbed, he remembered his other C-sections. Of the four he did, two babies survived. In each case, the concern was saving the mother. Post-op for the child would be expensive, both in the short and long term, so the possibility of losing the child was a necessary sacrifice. Here though, the approach was different. This was a Foreign child, so Tob had to think like a Foreigner, follow their rules.
Pamela was heavily sedated, but conscious. She lay under drapes, with a nurse keeping her calm. A steady, silent trace scrolled across the monitor, tracking the necessary vitals. Tob made the first incision, cauterizing regions that bled milky red. Then he cut through and retracted layers of muscle and the uterine wall, keeping track of fetus position. Now the trick. Through an orifice no larger than a bracelet, he cupped the fetus’s head with a shoehorn-like tool; it was so wickedly primitive, he hesitated. He pulled gently. The baby emerged, bloodied and wrinkled, followed by a noduled cord, equally bloodied.
He cut and tied the cord, cleared the baby’s mouth and nose, and handed it to the doctor assisting. Tob started to close, but there was an eerie silence.
His assistant tried coaxing the newborn to breathe, but it wouldn’t. Desperate, Tob tried mouth-to-mouth. His lips engulfed the child’s tiny face. He blew, careful not to exert too much force. The child’s fragile chest heaved, but the reflex wasn’t there.
Pamela sensed trouble. The nurse tried distracting her, but she saw Tob’s efforts. "My God," she yelled. "My baby. You’re killing my baby!"
He cursed himself for letting her see. He yelled at his assistant to put her under, immediately.
"No," she kept repeating, reaching out for her baby, until the gas took hold.
A ferric bitterness coated Tob’s mouth. Mechanically, he breathed, counting intervals. He saw Russell and Pamela, lifting their new child, pride full on their faces; he saw this child growing up, calling him "uncle," the closest he would get to having his own.
Someone pulled him back, but Tob swung his arm, struggling to get back to the baby.
"Tob, stop," his assistant said.
"Let me work. You close up."
"I already did."
"What?" He looked around to see people staring as if watching a lunatic.
"It’s over. You’ve been at it for fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen...?"
Pamela was gone from the OR. The baby lay on the steel table, mouth opened and head angled back.
Later, genomic analysis showed that Charles Zeigler died due to CureAll complications. At birth, the lungs were normally water-filled. Pulmonary surfactants reduced the surface tension of water filling the lungs, allowing it to drain and fill with air. In little Charles, a CureAll mutation knocked out the genes that packaged and delivered the surfactants. Easily treatable with a lipid-cholesterol mixture sprayed into the lungs at birth.
Easily treatable on Earth.
#
Since the delivery, Russell ate dinner with the Tanaka’s often. Pamela returned to Earth after recovering, to spend time with her family. Russell was feeling homesick himself, but had business on Gensapori.
"My son’s death is not the reason I want to return Earth-side. It’s that everyone is so amazed you tried so hard. Back home, it’s criminal otherwise." He took a sip of his drink. "It occurs to me that your culture is cold."
"Does that include your friends?" Nami said offended.
"Oh, I feel at home with the people. But when I look at your eugenics and euthanasia laws, the harmony seems superficial."
Tob and Nami looked at each other. "Our euthanasia practices are more liberal than yours, but eugenics?" Nami said.
Tob shook his head, trying to tell Russell to change the subject.
"For example, you encourage couples of similar abilities to marry, and you sterilize certain of your population. It seems unnatural."
"Unnatural? We’ve found that couples with similar interests are less likely to divorce. Divorce is expensive, no? So we try to prevent it. We don’t force anyone into marriage.
"And your scientists stick extra chromosomes into cells. You may think the Remedy is cold, but you are cruel!"
"Nami! Calm down." Tob held her hand.
"And one more thing. The Release is an honorable Sacrifice, and carried out only if quality of life is permanently compromised. How dare you belittle it!" She stood up and took her drink to the living room.
"Your wife is feisty."
Tob nodded.
"You’ve lived here for five years, and you still don’t understand us."
"I understand. I guess I don’t want to accept."
"Your son?"
"That makes it harder. He would be alive now if we were on Earth, or even in Eagleton. The technology here is just so damn..."
"Primitive?"
"Undeveloped."
Tob nodded apologetically. "Where are you going?"
"I owe Nami an apology."
#
Tob knew a consultation with an ilum was confidential, even from the government, yet he hesitated. He felt eyes on him as he sat on a Central Cavern park bench, watching children and parents walking the trail or picnicking.
He mulled over ZeiglerTech’s proposal for setting up a research lab in the empty warehouse of their Outer Nishi rendezvous. Since the meeting, they bought the building using a Gensaporian company as a front and smuggled equipment in from Eagleton, a nearby colony, through old construction tunnels that led directly to the warehouse. Next, they needed Tob’s help to gain access to hospital data-nets without arousing suspicion.
In return, Russell offered him a child, sort of.
Tob worried about Russell, who obsessed over conquering the CureAll.
"Idle minds are a devil’s toy."
He turned. "I thought it was ‘hands.’"
"True, but the idea is the same." By the way Ilum Rhoa laughed, he knew she was the ideal confidante.
Of course, listening was only part of an ilum’s duty. They were also guides, one’s conscience, and moral interpreters. Ilumhood was life of selflessness, a Sacrifice greater than the Release and Remedy, though no ilum would acknowledge it as such. Humility was in their soul.
They walked, scarcely noticing the lush greenery. A monorail peeked through breaks in the tree line as it rushed through the cavern.
Ilum Rhoa listened intently as Tob explained Russell’s proposal, ZeiglerTech’s experiment, and how it felt losing the Foreign child. Her expression never wavered, never showed dismay, shock, or prejudice -- even when he said the Foreigners wanted to make him pregnant.
"First, be proud you found the courage to speak with someone." They sat on the grass, and Ilum Rhoa pulled out a snack from her sack. From a thermos came fragrant green tea, which she offered him, along with salty, glazed crackers. "How to serve the good of the whole? A simple question with a difficult answer."
"Good of the whole ... even if it means breaking the law?" A family walked by, son riding high on father’s shoulders. "I’m not sure if my judgment is clouded."
"I have known you your entire life. I was ilum to your parents, counseled you on your parents’ Release. I know your heart. Feel the spirit of the law. Are the Foreigners truly in need?"
These were important questions, but he couldn’t answer, and that troubled him.
He bit into the hard cracker, and had a thought so morbid, he couldn’t swallow. The saltiness reminded him of little Charles.
#
Nami put the chef’s knife down. "Tob, no. It’s unnatural." She went back to chopping green onions.
"Living on the moon is ‘unnatural,’ yet we do it."
"It seems wrong. I don’t know why. It just does."
Tob explained again. Slowly.
In order to map out the effects of the CureAll, the Foreigners needed an uncorrupted genome, a baseline from which to compare, so that meant using a Gensaporian. They wanted to study the development of Tob and Nami’s CureAll modified embryo.
Amanda requested either he or Nami carry the embryo, rather than a Foreigner, in order to minimize systematic uncertainties. Tob insisted he be impregnated rather than Nami; he would never put her at risk.
Tob put his arms around Nami, but she pulled away.
"This is unlike you. You usually do what is good for the ..."
"Gensapori isn’t the whole," Tob said. He started dry-cleaning rice for steaming.
"Of course we are. They abandoned us, and now they want our help? It’s their problem. Don’t make it ours."
"Gensapori should reintegrate."
"Don’t talk like that." Absentmindedly, she waived the knife at him. "We have to respect what our Founders went through."
"I do, but times have changed. Why do we still Sacrifice? Even you thought our Remedy was unfair."
Ignoring him, Nami lifted pot covers, filling the kitchen with the aroma of miso and mild curry.
"We Sacrifice to preserve our way of life, without Foreigners who think they know how others should live. ‘Gensaporians are backwards and need our help.’ That’s what they think. They want to use you. Don’t you see?"
"At least then ... I’ll be useful to someone." Shrugging, Tob returned to preparing the rice. Now, she knew he felt an emptiness.
Later in bed, Nami said, "Just promise you’ll be careful, okay?" She wiggled into Tob’s arms. "Will the child be ours?"
"There could be complications, but yes, the child’s ours. I guess we would petition the State explaining the circumstances."
"It’s so indecent, what the Foreigners want to do."
"Mmm. But we could help so many."
"If only they were more responsible."
"Sometimes even the best ideas aren’t perfect. The CureAll does do a lot of good, when it works."
"I don’t know. I like things simple." She kissed him and rolled over to her side of the bed. Tob stayed up most the night wishing things in life could be that way -- simple.
#
The Outer Nishi warehouse had a storefront selling trendy Foreign techno-trinkets. Business would be poor, as Tob was sure Russell expected, but having the tech around made it easier to smuggle in research equipment.
Tob feigned interest in a mood enhancing implant, and discretely tapped out the signal to enter the back room. The salesperson led him to the rear.
The hallway was narrow and lined with doors. One was open and Amanda sat on her bed, talking with a girl over the vid-phone.
"I miss you too," she said to the girl. She noticed Tob and motioned that she’d meet him in a moment.
The hallway opened to the lab area, with hutches along the warehouse walls. The center was a meeting area with tables and a transparent cube two meters tall. As Tob touched its glassy, birefringent surface, the cube darkened, displaying a vivid two-tone blue image. Each of the vertical faces showed the same 3-D image, which looked like it shouldn’t be possible.
The ocean -- Tob didn’t recognize the scene immediately. Slowly, the image rotated to show kilometers of shoreline. The sky was a soft blue and felt boundless, unlike in the caverns he called home. The point of view swooped down and flew inland, and Tob ducked instinctively as he passed glass buildings, networked roads, and tall, sagging palms. In the distance, a downtown rose over the flat metropolis like a crater’s central peak.
"I live several kilometers to the left." Amanda pointed, and the view swooped and centered on a recluse community in the hills.
How long had she been standing there?
"Sorry about the wait. My daughter. She misses mommy."
Tob wondered what that would feel like.
"Ernie, thank you." And the cube became transparent again. Amanda put her hand on Tob’s shoulder and sat down. "I want to explain the procedure and our test results."
On the cube nicknamed Ernie, she displayed grids of multi-colored lines representing cellular pathways, simulations of embryo development, and models for interpreting results.
Tob followed as best he could, his medical degree uncomfortably obsolete. Several times, he imagined canceling the experiment, excusing himself politely and returning to the simple life of helping his people, but then Amanda displayed graphs showing the subtle rise in CureAll related illnesses and the explosion of medical cost predicted if the problem remained unchecked.
He became angry when he thought of the Foreigners’ insensitivity, putting him in this situation, relying on him to solve their problems. Russell tried to bridge cultural differences, so Tob should also. The seemingly unlimited resources of the Foreigners’ world allowed unlimited compassion -- extend life at all cost. There was no need to Sacrifice. In that environment, it was easy to understand how this predicament arose.
But that did not explain Tob’s mixed emotions -- part apprehension, part fear, part elation. Was there another reason he agreed to this?
That night he stayed at the warehouse. The next morning, he underwent impregnation. Nami was at his side when they put him to sleep.
#
Tob woke. His abdomen was tight and pinched in spasms that forced out suffocating moans. He crawled to the side of the bed, gut nauseated, and brought up acrid brown mucous.
He lay on sweat soaked sheets, watching an IV drip fluid into his exhausted, dehydrated body. Amanda and Russell puzzled over why he didn’t respond to traditional acclimatizing treatments, which contained nothing too exotic -- estrogen derivatives mostly. Tob couldn’t rest, since they were unwilling to use powerful enough analgesics and sedatives. He noted with irony how, when prognoses became uncertain, Foreigners resorted to medical technology tried and true -- the simple IV -- but thoughts faded into a blur when he tried to concentrate further.
Nami visited the warehouse daily after her nursing shift, conveying messages from concerned colleagues who thought Tob was home with a "flu." On the fourth day, his condition improved so they returned home under the cover of night.
The next evening, he sat in the living room, lights dimmed, while Nami prepared dinner. With dirtied apron and long black hair tied back, she seemed utterly devoted the mundane task. She was an angel.
He shivered as the room grew and his ears rang.
Suddenly, his mind cleared like steam alleviating congested sinuses. Rubbing his hand across his midsection, he found no scar, only the fiber-optic feed, which felt like a thick hair, used for probing the womb implanted in his gut. Otherwise, the ordeal felt like a dream.
He was hungry -- ravenous. The aroma drew him to the kitchen. His offer to help surprised Nami, who insisted he rest, but he couldn’t, not with his uncontrollable, newfound verve.
After dinner, they made love. He initiated.
#
Though it was disrespectful, Tob ignored Ilum Rhoa’s requests to meet. He felt energetic and euphoric, and didn’t want to hear how he misinterpreted her advice. So it was a little embarrassing when she showed up at the hospital.
"Shame on you," she said. "Making an old woman worry."
Tob bowed profusely. A passing group of nurses teased him for eliciting such a motherly show from the ilum. After ushering Ilum Rhoa into his office, he apologized.
"My dear, I wasn’t upset, only worried. Congratulations." She hugged him. He stood there, arms locked at his sides, suffocated by an elder half his size. "Oh, congratulations," she said, jumping cheerfully.
"Thank you," he said. She let go, and he fixed his glasses. Then an awkward silence as he watched her beaming.
"You are with child," she said, explaining herself.
"You don’t object?"
"That is not my right. An ilum does not judge, an ilum guides -- illuminates. You must have believed this was the right thing to do, and with your conscience clear, I can only be happy for you."
Tob looked away.
"You must confront any doubts," she said.
"No doubts." His jaw tightened. "This experiment will help the Foreigners." The words came out too smoothly.
The ilum nodded, accepting his word. "How is Nami?"
Intense, hot fire. He shook the feeling away.
"Fine," he said tentatively, wondering why she asked. "The beginning was rough, but she seems fine now. I go in every day and the Foreigners download their data." He indicated the fiber optic feed. "Nami accompanies me, and she seems herself."
Ilum Rhoa leaned forward shrewdly. "And that doesn’t trouble you?"
His face flushed.
This past month was exciting. In the mornings, when he pulled up his shirt and examined his belly in the mirror, he felt pride. Of course the pregnancy didn’t show, but a child grew inside of him, a child that was dependent on him. It was a powerful rush. Small wonder Foreign couples often share the burden of birthing their children; it must create a tighter family unit. Good for the whole!, he thought.
Tob felt hot, on fire.
Then it hit him; he understood why the ilum asked about Nami. How could he be so inconsiderate? His constant excitement must be like brutal kicks, reminding Nami of what she could not experience. At that moment, he wanted to hold her and apologize, tell her he did this solely for the good of the Foreigners, but that would be lying, and he had done that to her too often. She politely endured because she knew his joy was sincere.
Tob must have fainted, for next he saw the ilum fanning him and calling for help. His gut felt like a rock.
Ilum Rhoa rushed out the door. "Please, help," she said in fragile voice.
"No," Tob tried saying. "No Gensaporian doctors." How would the State react?
He managed to call home and saw Nami’s confused face, but what happened next was a blur.
#
Tob was relieved to see Russell and Nami, but then he realized he was in a Gensaporian hospital. A sharp pain hit when he lifted his head.
"My baby?"
"We had to remove the fetus," Russell said. "It’s cutting it short, but the vital organs were well developed. It’s in an artificial womb now."
Tob closed his eyes, and felt -- empty. He looked at Nami.
"They know," she said.
Tob immediately noticed changes in people’s behavior. Doctors, who were his friends, were suddenly formal. Nurses kept their distance when caring for him. His only company was Nami, during her breaks or after shifts, and Ilum Rhoa. Russell had meetings with Gensapori leaders, negotiating disciplinary actions against their covert activities.
After two days, Tob was discharged. Everyone knew the offense, for news spreads fast in a small city-state. Rumors, unfortunately, spread faster.
Five Gensaporian officers guarded the Outer Nishi warehouse. Tob begged to be let through, to see his child, but the officers refused with cold indifference. Insistence turned to violence when Tob tried forcing himself through. He knocked an officer down, and they responded by clipping Tob’s legs with a billy. He fell to the ground, moaning and writhing. Amanda came to the front, and the officers warned her not to interfere.
"What harm can it do to let him through?" Amanda asked. The officers ignored her. She tried to help Tob, who lay helpless on the walkway, but they pushed her back into the warehouse.
"You Foreigners have done enough!" the officer spat. For the first time, Tob heard disgust in that word -- Foreigner.
A crowd gathered, first curious about the bobbery, then shouting angry phrases at the Foreigners. To the Gensaporians, Tob was a victim, lured by decadent and unscrupulous Foreigners. Hearing this, Tob tried to say, "No, the Foreigners need our help," feeling embarrassed that his own people misunderstood. The crowd now numbered fifty and started to advance. A man lifted Tob out of the way. "We won’t let them use you anymore."
The five officers postured to look more formidable. One frantically called in for support. Just then, a pleiad of ilums emerged from the warehouse. A bald, elderly man raised his hands. The crowd quieted, visibly confused.
"We wished to understand the Foreigners’ point of view," said Ilum Pok. "They were accommodating. Talk with us before brash actions. That is most rational, no?"
A few people countered, voicing their frustrations, but Ilum Pok continued to speak with calming sincerity. The ilums separated and the crowd reluctantly followed in groups.
Tob sat at a planter with his knees swollen and bleeding. Ilum Rhoa approached and applied a gauzy compress that soothed as it bubbled, incorporating into the surrounding skin. He examined his legs. Nothing broken.
He limped toward the warehouse, passing the officers bowing to their superiors who reprimanded them for a situation ill-handled. Tob leaned on Amanda and Ilum Rhoa as they guided him back to the meeting area.
"The compress is our tech. Hope you don’t mind," Amanda said, smiling.
"No, no. Thank you." He was humbled and couldn’t meet her eyes.
"It’s good to see your people so spirited. Back home, the stereotypical Gensaporian is hard working, but obedient. Dull and uniform."
Strange. For Tob, uniformity was a stereotype of Foreigners -- all techno-hungry and decadent. But now he knew better.
"How ... is my ... the fetus?"
Amanda sighed and showed him.
#
The meeting area was dark, except for a sleepy glow from the two-meter tall cube. It displayed a giant fetus looking back with expressionless, lidless eyes.
Tob stared, trying to understand.
Amanda called it pseudocephaly, a CureAll based disease in which the higher cortical regions failed to differentiate, resulting in a cranium full of mush. It was not fatal since the brain stem developed correctly, but the person would have the behavior and instincts of a rat -- eating, sleeping, copulating with bestial indifference.
Raising a pseudocephalic was like owning a pet -- leashed and conditioned. Some opted for AI implants, but even the best had idiosyncrasies that were not completely human. A computer controlled shell.
"Should we abort the pregnancy?" Tob asked matter-of-factly after hearing the news.
That got harsh reactions from the Foreigners, who couldn’t see its rationale, considering there were ways of coping with the handicap.
"Remember the abortion issue?" Amanda said. The others seemed amused. "Can’t ask anymore if it’s the woman’s right. For one thing, there are just as many pregnant men. But seriously, a child is the community’s obligation, so the whole should care for it."
It surprised Tob how Gensaporian that sounded.
Now, he wondered why he agreed to the experiment. For Nami? It was lame trying to convince himself of that. It was to help the Foreigners -- his friends -- but even that didn’t mesh with his sense of obligation. It was his duty to Sacrifice in the name of his unborn child.
The giant image twitched, as if acknowledging Tob’s decision.
Tob entered the hutch with the artificial womb. It was an oblate spheroid with a metallic sheen, soft and warm to the touch. A display flashed on the counter next to the egg. He sighed. "I agreed to this experiment because I wanted to be a father," he said in solitary confession. "So I should start acting like one."
The Release ceremony ran through his mind, and the soft ting of the bowl made him cry. He loved his child, and the Release was the greatest gift he could offer.
#
Russell rushed into the warehouse and greeted the group with relieved hugs.
"Any sign of trouble?" he asked, sounding tired and frustrated.
"No," Amanda said.
"Still, I’ll be much relieved when we finish pulling out."
The Gensaporian government was becoming more adamant, threatening to take the lab by force if the Foreigners didn’t surrender their equipment and all information relevant to the experiment. The State needed to determine the extent to which the Foreigners exploited their citizen. They claimed they did not occupy the warehouse from the start as a show of good faith, though it was obvious they were playing the victim in hopes of getting outside support -- the poor little city-state abused by the powerful ZeiglerTech conglomerate. Surely some Foreign nation would have sympathy. But patience wore thin.
Evacuation of the warehouse was already underway. A rover sat parked in the entrance of the tunnel that led to the moon’s surface.
Amidst the bustle, Amanda stopped Tob. "Don’t feel obligated to help. You should get home before they come."
"Nonsense. Nami and I are a part of this."
She squeezed his arm and kissed him on the cheek.
Surprised by her show, Tob stood for a moment, unsure how to respond. He nodded, and she smiled in a way that reminded him of Ilum Rhoa.
What happened next dashed his spirits. The warehouse door burst into flames, engulfing a nearby technician. Fuming canisters hurled across the warehouse, exploding in midair, spreading thick smoke. A shower of biting chemicals dug into his neck and arms. His skin burned and itched, and his lungs felt tight.
He saw Amanda’s face melt as she screamed and collapsed. The chemical blast had occurred behind him and above, he realized.
A deep voice echoed from outside. "By order of the Lunar State of Gensapori, the occupants of Block A7 Outer Nishi are under arrest. Exit unarmed for processing. You have one minute."
They weren’t expecting us to surrender, he thought. They would come in soon, shooting.
"Get to the rover!" Russell yelled.
Amanda lay in fetal position, covering her face. Tob lifted her, the pain in his arms compounded by chemicals rubbing off her body, her chemical smell making him nauseous. She pressed her face against Tob’s chest, and he could hear her whimpering.
He followed Yoshi to the rover and set Amanda down gently. Russell doused those badly burned.
He looked around, then in the rover. "Where’s Nami?"
Russell shrugged. "You can’t go back out. We have to pull out."
He ignored him and ran through the airlock door into the smoke filled warehouse.
"Nami!" he yelled. Only haunting echoes replied.
Staggered footfalls approached. "Tob," the shadow wheezed. Nami broke through the haze, welts covering her entire left side.
"Get back here! We have to shut the airlock," Russell called from behind.
Nami hobbled toward the airlock and Tob followed.
Another explosion.
Tob turned to see nebulous figures, back lit by the bright outside, shuffle into the warehouse. As he dove for the airlock door, stinging pain peppered his legs and back. He crawled, and Russell pulled him in and sealed the door.
The bus-sized rover swayed as it crept toward the moon’s surface. A sudden boom shook the vehicle violently.
"They can’t follow us now. The second airlock is at the other end and we just blew that out," Russell said.
Tob lay on a cot, his body throbbing with an excruciating, bloated pain. Yoshi worked frantically, pressuring Tob’s wounds and applying a soothing spray he didn’t recognize.
Nami caressed his bloody hand. A tear streamed down her face, and she winced as the salinity aggravated her burns.
Forcing his head up against the rover’s swaying, Tob saw others bruised and bleeding. Many were technicians brought in to help with the evacuation. Most sat quietly, stunned. Next to Tob, a woman moaned. It was Amanda. Someone should be drying her wounds and making her comfortable.
Tob’s legs went numb.
He hummed a tune, solemn with its unpredictable atonalities, and Nami closed her eyes, whispering something.
"Why is he humming? He’ll make it," Yoshi said to Russell.
"Tob, you did well," Russell said firmly. "What we learned about the CureAll will help a lot of people." He turned to Yoshi. "I’ll hold the compress. There’s nothing more to do here. Help Amanda and the others." He objected, wanting to treat Tob’s more serious injuries, but Russell insisted. Reluctantly, he left.
"Thank you," Tob managed. "I think you finally understand us. On the whole, he would be more help to others." He coughed, feeling warm, salty bitterness coat his mouth.
"No Tob, thank you for your Sacrifices," Russell said. "The Release is a noble gesture, but you’ll live. Foreign medicine, Tob. Foreign medicine, remember."
Tob understood; he had read about the procedure. By stopping his metabolism and lowering his body temperature, he would be in stasis until they reached Eagleton.
Tob shivered, and his breathing became erratic.
Nami stroked Tob’s wet hair, comforting him, never letting him forget her presence. As she leaned over and kissed him, he heard the clang of metal bowls echoing in his thoughts, until he could no longer feel the pressure of her lips.
#
The ZeiglerTech banquet was grand and highfalutin. Tob and Nami attended many since the announcement of ZeiglerTech’s most stunning breakthrough -- senescence, the ability to control how cells aged and how the body repaired itself. "A Beginning of a New Age without Age!" it was hailed, but Tob never felt comfortable, embarrassed by the celebrations’ grandeur, but deeper still, the idea troubled him.
Now he was home and he looked out onto the horizon from the window of his apartment, hoping to see the lights of Gensapori, but it was hopeless without an atmosphere to scatter light. Still, he imagined.
He imagined the view from Russell’s penthouse balcony, the orderly sidewalks of Gensapori’s shopping district, and the simplicity of his old hospital. He imagined Ilum Rhoa’s kind face and her thoughtful words. Was she still alive? Ten years past since their escape, and in that time, Gensapori retreated further into isolation, ousting visitors and breaking off communications with the outside.
"Imagine, now you can run free and sow your myopic oats," Russell had joked during Tob’s first trip Earth-side. Nami found the comment vulgar, but Russell thought it innocent, meaning they no longer needed to Sacrifice. Its ironic truth made it memorable; he could not "sow his oats," not with anyone of this world. He was incompatible with them all, him with no CureAll, unless Foreign technology intervened.
Gensaporians and Foreigners were two populations that could not interbreed, blocked biologically by the CureAll, politically by paranoia, physically by airlocks and vacuum. They would evolve independently -- both along different unknown paths.
Tob had only Nami, and that carnal compatibility drew them closer as the years passed. Still, he remained sterile to honor the Remedy.
"Daddy, I can’t sleep." Kimi tugged at her father’s shirt. "Daddy, what are you looking at?"
"We woke you. I’m sorry." Tob lifted his daughter, and pointed in the Gensapori’s general direction. "I’m just thinking about where I grew up."
"There’s nothing there," Kimi said, rubbing her eyes.
Tob smiled. "It seems like that, doesn’t it?"
She looked confused, so Tob told her the story of Gensapori.
And as he spoke, he was grateful that Nami stopped him that wistful night before the evacuation.
"You always decide on your own," she had said, angry. "Talk to me. It’s my child too." And Tob understood what the Foreigners knew implicitly. A pregnancy never involved just an individual. A couple must share the joys and hardships. In his quest to help others, he had been cruelly selfish.
After they talked, they decided a Release was premature.
In the months after the evacuation, the Foreigners learned more from the experiment -- including ways of applying neo-graftive techniques to cure cerebral deficiencies.
So, Tob finally had a child, and she slept on his lap, put to sleep by the stories of Gensapori, of their customs, of the Sacrifices, and of the wise and gentle ilums. He told the stories with the sentimental playfulness of endearing fairy-tales.
He missed home.
One day, his daughter would go back. Of that, he was sure, be it in a decade or in a century, for he thought of ZeiglerTech’s most recent discovery.
People could age as they wanted, when they wanted.
Would the Foreigners use their discovery responsibly -- this time? He sighed and kissed his daughter as he put her to bed, wondering if it was a blessing that she carried the CureAll.
Paul grew up in Southern California and currently lives in Ithaca, NY, working on his Ph.D. in physics. He's long been interested in the fantastic, but "discovered" science fiction in 1994 while working with writer/scientist Gregory Benford at UC Irvine, and has been hooked ever since.