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Joan Slonczewski: Microbe

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Joan Slonczewski Microbe

Microbe: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Explorers need all the help they can get—but they can’t anticipate everything.

Joan Slonczewski: другие книги автора


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Then she saw it; A giant zooid was approaching, five times taller than the others and perhaps a hundred times their weight. As it barreled along, picking up speed, the small striped ones took off, zigzagging crazily before it. The ground rumbled beneath her feet.

“Get back to my cabin!” urged Skyhook. “We’ll all get run over.”

“Wait,” said Pelt. “Do you think it heard us? What if it wants to talk?”

“I don’t think so,” said Andra, prudently backing off. “I think the smaller zooids attracted it, not us.”

A small zooid went down under the giant one, then another. That seemed to be the giant’s strategy, to run down as many little ones as it could. At last it slowed and turned back, coming to rest upon one of the squashed carcasses.

“It’s extending its suckers to feed,” observed Skyhook. “Let’s get back before it gets hungry again.”

“I think that will be a while,” said Andra. “It’s got several prey to feed on.” The rest of the smaller zooids seemed to have calmed down, as if they knew the predator was satisfied and would not attack again soon. Definitely a herd mentality; no sign of higher intelligence here.

Andra resumed collecting phycoids and soil samples, recording the location of each. Deeper into the field, she saw something thrashing about in the phycoids. She made her way toward it through the tangle of looped foliage.

“It’s a baby zooid,” she exclaimed. The poor little bagel must have fallen out when its parent ran off. Or perhaps the parent had expelled it, as a mother kangaroo sometimes did. At any rate, there it was, squirming and stretching its little suckers ineffectually, only tangling itself in the phycoids.

“Watch out; it might bite,” said Skyhook.

“Nonsense. I have to collect it.” Andra stuffed her hands into a pair of gloves, then approached warily. With one hand she held out an open collecting bag; with the other, she grabbed the little zooid. It hung limply, twisting a bit.

Suddenly it squirted something. An orange spray landed on the phycoids, some of it reaching her leg. Andra frowned. She plunged the creature into her bag, which sealed itself tight. “Sorry about that, Pelt.”

“You’re the one who would have been sorry,” Pelt replied. “That stuff is caustic, as strong as lye. No problem for me, but your skin would not have liked it.”

“Thanks a lot. I guess we should head back now; I’ve got more than I can hold.”

She turned back toward Skyhook, some hundred meters off, his spidery landing gear splayed out into the phycoids. Methodically she made her way back, with more difficulty now that she had so much to carry. She was sweating now, but Pelt handled it beautifully, keeping her skin cool and refreshed. The distant forest of tall blue phycoids sang in her ears. The Singing Planet, they could call it, she thought.

“Andra… something’s not right,” Pelt said suddenly.

“What is it?” She was having more trouble plowing through the foliage; her legs were getting stiff.

“Something that baby zooid sprayed is blocking my nanoprocessors. Not the chemicals; I can screen out anything. I’m not sure what it is.”

“What else could it be?”

Skyhook said, “Just get back to my cabin. We’ll wash you down.”

“I’m trying,” said Andra, breathing hard. “My legs are so stiff.” The shuttle craft stood hopefully ahead of her. Only about ten meters to go, she thought.

“It’s not your legs,” Pelt’s voice said dully. “It’s my nanoplast. I’m losing control over the lower part, where the spray hit. I can’t flex at your joints any more.”

Her scalp went cold, then hot again. “What about your air filter?”

“So far it’s OK. The disruption has not reached your face yet.”

“Just get back here,” Skyhook urged again. “You’re almost here.” Obligingly the doorway appeared on the craft’s surface, molding itself open in a rim of nanoplast.

“I’m trying, but my legs just won’t bend.” She pushed as hard as she could.

“Drop your backpack,” Skyhook added.

“I won’t give up my samples. How else will we learn what’s going on here?” She fell onto her stomach and tried to drag herself through.

“It’s microbes,” Pelt exclaimed suddenly. “Some kind of microbes —they’re cross-linking my processors.”

“What? How?” she demanded. “Microbes infecting nanoplast—I’ve never heard of it.”

“They messed up the probe before.”

“Quantum?” called Andra. “What do you think?”

“It could be,” the radio voice replied. “The nanoprocessors store data in organic polymers—which might be edible to a truly omnivorous microbe. There’s always a first time.”

“Microbes eating nanoplast!” Skyhook exclaimed. “What about other sentients? Are the microbes contagious?”

“You’ll have to put us in isolation,” said Andra.

“Andra,” said Pelt, “the cross-linking is starting to disrupt my entire system.” His voice came lower and fainter. “I don’t know how long I can keep my filters open.”

Andra stared desperately at the door of the shuttle, so near and yet so far. “Quantum, how long could I last breathing unfiltered air?”

“That’s hard to say. An hour should be OK; we’ll clean your lungs out later.”

She tried to recall how long the first rat had lived. Half a day?

“I’m shutting down,” Pelt warned her. “I’m sorry, Andra…”

Skyhook said, “Pelt, you’ll last longer in rest mode. We’ll save you yet—there’s got to be an antibiotic that will work. They’ve got DNA —we’ll throw every DNA analogue we’ve got at them.”

The nanoplastic skin opened around Andra’s mouth, shrinking back around her head and neck. An otherworldly scent filled her lungs, a taste of ginger and other unnameable things, as beautiful as the vision of golden ringlets. Planet Ginger, she thought, smelled as lovely as it looked. She was the first human to smell it; but would these breaths be her last?

Pelt’s skin shriveled down her arms, getting stuck at her waist near the spot that got sprayed. She tried again to pull herself through the phycoids, grabbing their tough loops. Suddenly she had another idea. Pulling in her arms, she sank down and rolled herself over and over, just like the zooids. This worked much better, for the phycoid foliage proved surprisingly elastic, bending easily beneath her and bouncing back again. Perhaps those zooids were not quite so silly after all.

At the door, Skyhook had already extruded sheets of quarantine material to isolate her and protect its own nanoplast from whatever deadly infection Pelt harbored. The doorway extended and scooped her up into the chain.

As the doorway constricted, at last closing out the treacherous planet, Andra let out a quick sigh of relief. “Skyhook, we’ve got to save Pelt. Have you got anything to help him?”

Two long tendrils were already poking into the quarantine chamber, to probe the hapless skinsuit. “I’m spreading what antibiotics we have on board,” said Skyhook, from the cabin speaker now. “Nucleotide analogues, anything likely to block DNA synthesis and stop the microbes growing. It’s bizarre, treating a sentient for infection.”

Andra carefully peeled off the remaining nanoplast, trying to keep as much of it together as possible, although she had no idea whether it was beyond repair. “Pelt,” she whispered. “You did your best for me.”

By the time they returned to the station, there was still no sign that any of the antibiotics had curbed the microbes. Quantum was puzzled. “I have a few more to try,” she said, “but really, if the chromosomes are regular DNA, something should have worked.”

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