Пол Андерсон - Explorations
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- Название:Explorations
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- Год:1981
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:5 / 5. Голосов: 1
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Explorations: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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Both have grown gaunt. Their eyes are sunken, their mouths and tongues are sore. Upon the dried skin of hands and faces, a rash has appeared.
Joel casts down his slide rule. "Damn, I can't think!" he nearly shouts. "Screw those analyses! What good are they?"
Korene's reply is sharp. "They just might show what's gone wrong with us and how to fix it."
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"Judas! When I can't even sleep right—" He twists about on his chair to confront the inactive robot. "You! You damned smug machines, where are you? What're you doing?"
A tic goes ugly along Korene's lip. "They're busy, yonder in orbit," she says. "I suggest you follow their example."
"Yah! Same as you?"
"Quite — anytime you'll help me keep our household running, Sir Self-Appointed Biochemist." She starts to lift herself but abandons the effort. Tears of self-pity trickle forth. "Olaf wouldn't have turned hysterical like you."
"And Mary wouldn't lie flopped-out useless," he says. However, the sting she has given sends him back to his labor. Interpreting the results of gas chromatography on unknown compounds is difficult at best. When he has begun to hallucinate — when the graphs he has drawn slide around and intertwine as if they were worms—
A crash resounds from the pantry. Korene exclaims. Joel jerks erect. Flour and the shards of a crock go in a tide across the floor. After them bounds Nat. He stops amidst the wreckage and gives his people a look of amazed innocence. Dear me, he all but says, how did this happen?
"You lousy little sneak!" Joel screams. "You know you're not allowed on the shelves!" He storms over to stand above the creature. "How often—" Stooping, he snatches Nat up by the scruff of the neck. A thin tone of pain and terror slips between his fingers.
Korene rises. "Let him be," she says.
"So he can finish the… havoc?" Joel hurls the monkey against the wall. The impact is audible. Nat lies twisted and wailing.
Silence brims the room, inside the wind. Korene gazes at Joel, and he at his hands, as if they confronted these things for the first time. When at last she speaks, it is altogether without tone. "Get
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out. Devil. Go."
"But," he stammers. "But, I didn't mean."
Still she stares. He retreats into new anger. "That pest's been driving me out of my skull! You know he has! We may be dead because of him, and yet you gush over him till I could puke!"
"Right. Blame him for staying healthy when we didn't. I find depths in you I never suspected before."
"And I in you," he jeers. "He's your baby, isn't he? The baby you've been tailored never to bear yourself. Your spoiled brat."
She brushes past him and kneels beside the animal.
Joel utters a raw kind of bark. He lurches to the door, hauls it open, disappears as if the dusk has eaten him. Rain and chill blow in.
Korene doesn't notice. She examines Nat, who pants, whimpers, watches her with eyes that are both wild and dimming. Blood mats his fur. It becomes clear that his back is broken.
"My pretty, my sweet, my bouncy-boy, please don't hurt. Please," she sobs as she lifts the small form. She carries him into the laboratory, prepares an injection, cradles him and sings a lullaby while it does its work.
Afterward she brings the body back to the living room, lies down holding it, and cries herself into a half-sleep full of nightmares.
— Her voice rouses her, out of the metal which has rested in a corner. She never truly remembers, later, what next goes on between her selves. Words, yes; touch; a potion for her to drink; then the blessing of nothingness. When she awakens, it is day and the remnant of Nat is gone from her.
So is the robot. It returns while she is leaving the bed. She would weep some more if she had the strength; but at least, through a headache she can think.
The door swings wide. Rain has ended. The
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world gleams. Here too are fall colors, beneath a lucent sky where wandersongs drift from wings beating southward. The carpet of the land has turned to sallow gold, the forest to bronze and red and a purple which bears tiny flecks like mica. Coolness streams around her.
Joel enters, half leaning on the machine, half upheld by it. Released, he crumples at her feet. From the throat which is not a throat, his voice begs:
"Be kind to him, will you? He spent the night stumbling around the woods till he caved in. Might've died, if a chemosensor of ours hadn't gotten the spoor."
"I wanted to," mumbles the man on the floor. "After what I did."
"Not his fault," says the ship anxiously, as if his identity were also involved and must clear itself of guilt. "He wasn't in his right mind."
The female sound continues: "An environmental factor, you see. We have finally identified it. You weren't rational either, girl. But never blame yourself, or him." Hesitation. "You'll be all right when we've taken you away from here."
Korene doesn't observe how unsteady the talking was, nor think about its implications. Instead, she sinks down to embrace Joel.
"How could I do it?" he gasps upon her breast.
"It wasn't you that did," says Korene in the robot, while Korene in the woman holds him close and murmurs.
— They are back aboard ship, harnessed weightless. Thus far they haven't asked for explanations. It was enough that their spirits were again together, that the sadness and the demons were leaving them, that they slept unhaunted and woke to serenity. But now the soothing drugs have worn off and healing bodies have, afresh, generated good minds.
They look at each other, whisper, and clasp
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hands. Joel says aloud, into the metal which encloses them: "Hey. You two."
His fellow self does not answer. Does it not dare? Part of a minute goes by before the older Korene speaks. "How are you, my dears?"
"Not bad," he states. "Physically."
How quiet it grows.
Until die second Korene gives challenge. "Hard news for us. Isn't that so?"
"Yes," her voice sighs back.
They stiffen. "Go on," she demands.
The answer is hasty. "You were suffering from pellagra. That was something we'd never encountered before; not too simple to diagnose, either, especially in its early stages. We had to ransack our whole medical data bank before we got a clue as to what to look for in the cell and blood samples we took. It's a deficiency disease, caused by lack of niacin, a B vitamin."
Protest breaks from Joel. "But hell, we knew the Glorian biochemistry doesn't include B complex! We took our pills."
"Yes, of course. That was one of the things which misled us, along with the fact that the animals throve on the same diet as yours. But we've found a substance in the native food — all native food; it's as integral to life as ATP is on Earth — a material that seemed harmless when we made the original analyses—" pain shrills forth— "when we decided we could create you—"
"It acts with a strictly human-type gene," the ship adds roughly. "We've determined which one, and don't see how to block the process. The upshot is release of an enzyme which destroys niacin in the bloodstream. Your pills disguised the situation at first, because the concentration of antagonist built up slowly. But equilibrium has been reached at last, and you'd get no measurable help from swallowing extra doses; they'd break
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down before you could metabolize them."
"Mental disturbances are one symptom," Korene says from the speaker. "The physical effects in advanced cases are equally horrible. Don't worry. You'll get well and stay well. Your systems have eliminated the chemical, and here is a lifetime supply of niacin."
She does not need to tell them that here is very little which those systems can use a fuel, nor any means of refining the meats and fruits on which they counted.
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