Vale of Stars (15 page)

“Okay, seal that one off and hold,” Kuarta said to the computer-assisted DNA splicing machine and turned to Wasif-Mosaka. “What’s up, Auel?”

The young woman hesitated, then said, “I have a friend who works as a clerk in the Central Genebank and he sent me…well, why don’t you take a look at it?” Wasif-Mosaka handed over the sheet of paper she had been holding nervously in her hand.

Auel
, it read,
I got a weird bit of news for you. My argie boss actually executed a computer search on his own today instead of telling me or Bhoetin to do it and then watching over our shoulders, looking like he just farted oxygen. I watched him (in secret—he didn’t see me) do it because I thought he’d screw it up and I wanted to have a cool story to tell you. He did, a little, but he found what he wanted—genedata on Yallia Verdafner. And then he unlocked it! He actually overrode the privacy codes and sent the whole thing to Karin Onizaka over in Valhalla!

Kuarta fought to keep her anger in check. She forced herself to finish the note.

I wanted to tell you this because you work with Kuarta, at least you did the last time I spoke with you. You gotta write me back and tell me what’s going on! Oops! Ol’ Blackeyes is looking over at me. Gotta run. I’ll see you later this week, I hope
.

Kuarta looked up from the paper to see Wasif-Mosaka studying her reverently.

“Is there anything I can do, Doctor?”

Kuarta forced herself to smile. “Oh, no. We just had a bit of a scare the other day at school. Nothing really. I’m sure the genebank is just sending data to the appropriate medical personnel.”

Wasif-Mosaka frowned. “I—I’m sorry I got involved, Doctor. I should know better than to get wrapped up in gossip. If you—”

“Oh, no, Auel. No problem,” Kuarta said soothingly. “Thanks so much for showing me the note. I do have to follow up on it. Say, why don’t you take over on the chimera for me? You’ve been studying the sequence long enough. I think it’s time you took a shot at some splicing yourself.”

Wasif-Mosaka brightened immediately. She thanked Kuarta, then moved to the veescope and carefully began the work Kuarta had abandoned.

Kuarta turned her face towards her young assistant, but her mind was elsewhere. Despite the privacy injunction, Onizaka had overridden the law and had pulled her daughter’s records.

The implications were no less than staggering. No one was supposed to have access to a child’s genedata, including the parents. In cases where medical information was needed, doctors could call up answers to specific questions from the computer files, but even such referencing was rare. Most medical problems could be addressed without resorting to genetic analysis. Could Onizaka, on her own authority, ask for and receive data on anyone she wished?

Jene would know. Kuarta looked at Wasif-Mosaka, bent over the veescope, and said, “Auel, I’m going to step out for a moment. You look like you’ve got that under control. Just keep it up and make sure it stays in vee until I take a look at it, all right?”

“All right, Doctor. I’ll be fine.”

Kuarta left the lab and headed for her office where she could speak in private. Once there, she holoed her mother.

Jene was in session right now, the answering service informed her. Kuarta hesitated just a moment, then swiped her finger through the word “URGENT” that was hanging in air just below the answering service message. The text instantly disappeared to be replaced by the words “Your call has been routed to Commissar Halfner’s headphone. One moment.”

There was an agonizing three-minute wait before Jene’s voice sounded in the room. “Kuarta? What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you in person, Ma.”

Jene answered after a pause. “I can duck this session in a few minutes. Can you meet me in Valhalla next to the Assembly Hall?”

Kuarta would have rather met in her mother’s home, but she did not want to place too many demands on her. Kuarta was already taking her away from the Assembly floor during a session; she might have to go back soon after meeting with her daughter.

“Sure. I’ll leave now.” Kuarta terminated the connection and absently noted the deduction from her personal allotment of time. She swiped her fingers through the glowing numbers and they vanished. Kuarta took a moment to decide not to tell Dolen just yet what had happened, then left the lab and took a wirebus to the Dome exit.

The trip was perhaps twenty minutes long. Valhalla Dome was not in the same hexagonal Dome complex as New Chicago, so it meant a transfer not only of Domes but also of entire Dome Complexes. The tube that joined the two complexes was made out of the same transparent material as the Domes themselves, allowing the natural sunlight of Epsilon Eridani to filter in. The chlorine content of the atmosphere cast a bilious yellow-green glow through the tube, far more pronounced than in the Domes, that always made Kuarta slightly nauseous. Today, with her growing sense of dread, she could feel the saliva in her mouth and fought to keep herself from becoming sick.

The wirebus was an open-air trolley that ran above tracks in the ground, powered by magnetic levitation. Once it had exited New Chicago, it was no longer under municipal speed controls and quickly reached its cruising speed of one hundred k.p.h.

Kuarta hardly noticed the increase. Ordinarily, she watched out the transparent canopy, looking at the green-tinted countryside in an attempt to distract herself from the nausea, marveling at the accomplishment that had put her where she was. Now, though, her thoughts were focused on her daughter. After the incident, she had had a brief moment when she thought she might secure a genetic sample from Yallia herself and run tests using the lab’s equipment, but the thought died almost as soon as it was born. Such a breach of privacy was unthinkable, and the use of colony equipment for personal gain was almost equally abhorrent to her. She had not told Dolen of her idea.

The wirebus slowed as it entered Valhalla, the first Dome the argies had built upon their arrival in 1 NE (although some of the die-hard shippies, like Wasif-Mosaka, privately put the year at 42 SY) and which was almost entirely populated by descendants of the
Argo.
There was no mistaking the symbolism present in the fact that the center of government was in Valhalla, that the Commissar-General lived there, and that vanishingly few shippies made their homes there. There was, of course, no official law or statute that forbade shippies from entering, as long as a resident family (invariably an argie one) left. And that happened so infrequently that the composition of Valhalla Dome was likely to remain argie for the foreseeable future.

The wirebus made three stops before arriving at the center of Valhalla Dome where the planetary government made its seat. There, Kuarta disembarked and walked the short distance to the Assembly Hall, noticing but not reacting to the subtle glances of interest a few passing argie officials threw in her direction. She had kept out of her mother’s business for the most part during her tenure in the Assembly, and so Kuarta was not well known as the Commissar’s daughter. She was simply a shippie woman walking in the public thoroughfare. But that was enough.

Kuarta was glad to reach her mother’s offices, even if it did mean announcing her presence to a suspicious argie sentry who guarded the Commissars’ chambers. The man seemed resentful that Kuarta had indeed been authorized to pass through and waved her in with a sour look.

Jene’s office was on the far side of the hall, and Kuarta had to pass many others on her way there. She kept her eyes forward and strode purposefully toward her goal. No one challenged her directly, but she could feel the eyes on her as she walked. Jene waited inside with her door halfway open.

“Ma?” Kuarta said softly. Jene was at her desk, dictating to a holophone.

“…Disagree with the majority opinion,” Jene was saying. She slashed her hand toward the text of her speech floating in air before her and said, “Save and fade to point one.” The words dimmed to almost invisibility. “Come in, dear,” she said to her daughter.

“Disagreeing with the majority, Ma?” Kuarta said, smiling nervously. She could not yet bring herself to introduce the subject she had come to discuss. She needed a few moments with her mother. She entered the room and shut the door behind her. Relief flooded into her when she was finally alone with her mother, away from the argie eyes.

“My life’s work, dear,” was Jene’s immediate rejoinder. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Kuarta stopped her.

“What is it this time?”

Jene sighed. “Oh, some of the Commissars want to relax legislation on industrial waste recycling. They say that the laws are antiquated and we are more than ready to move into a new era of industrial expansion. I say we’re still on an alien planet that can kill us with a single lungful of its atmosphere.” She looked shrewdly at her daughter. “But you know all about that, don’t you?”

Kuarta did not answer.

“Come on, dear, did you really think I wouldn’t find out? I’ve got my friends, you know.” She snorted, then softened her tone. “Everything all right?”

Her mother had obviously heard about Yallia’s experience at the school. Not through any official channels, of course, but just from the shippie grapevine. Kuarta should have guessed that would have happened and told her herself. Dolen could be excused—he was ignorant of the true nature of shippie solidarity among argies. But Kuarta should not have tried to keep the news from her mother.

Kuarta answered her mother’s question. “Medically, I think so. She’s been fine since coming back from the hospital. Did you get a report?”

“I saw what I needed to. It doesn’t make sense. I know Wajanowitz; he’s a good man and doesn’t make mistakes. So if you came to me for my medical know-how to try to explain this, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong sawbones.”

“No, Ma. That’s not it.” Kuarta looked at the closed door behind her. Jene raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Dr. Onizaka pulled the records for Yallia from New Chicago’s Central Genebank,” Kuarta said quietly.

“What?” Jene’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. Until that moment, she had shown routine maternal interest in her daughter’s story—Kuarta suspected that Jene had assumed her daughter was coming to her just for the comfort of being with Ma. “Onizaka doesn’t have that kind of authority.”

Kuarta nodded. “I didn’t think so. I wasn’t sure, but I knew you would know. Who can authorize that kind of investigation?”

Jene did not answer, but stared at a corner of her office, her mind obviously racing ahead of the question. Kuarta watched her for a moment, then said, “Ma?”

“What? Oh, sorry, dear. Ordinarily, no one has the authority. Technically, the Commissar-General can declare a genefile open to select members of his staff, but only to contain a quarantine or other epidemic.”

The two women stared at each other for a beat, then Jene added, “It has to be related to what happened to Yallia at school.”

“I imagine so.”

“And it was definitely native biomatter she ate?

“No question. She was exhaling chlorine gas. From the smell, it had to be had to be as high as five p.p.m. or more.”

“But her blood gasses were normal. So were all her respiratory functions, mucous membranes, and so on. Did she have any eye problems?”

Kuarta shook her head. “No. Some of the onlookers started to blink and rub their eyes, now that I think of it, but Kuarta is fine.”

“She should be dead. Or very, very sick.”

“I know.”

The two women, both trained in the field of medicine and both quite aware of the only answer that fit all the facts, fought with their intellects to keep the conclusion from themselves.

“She metabolized the chlorine,” Kuarta said softly.

Yallia looked with envy at the other children in the Crèche. They were mostly argie boys and girls, though there were a handful of shippies there too. Ordinarily, she would not have made special note of the difference, but the incident at school yesterday had sharpened her awareness of the invisible caste to which she belonged. She was by no means sophisticated enough to understand much of the social fabric of her world, but she had turned an important corner in her education: she knew she was different.

“Yallia, dear, how are you feeling today?” Mr. Rice asked, bending down to her level. Mr. Rice was one of her favorite grown-ups, and despite the obvious evidence of his dark complexion and impressive stature, she did not notice he was an argie. Yallia had left the Crèche last year to attend school and had missed Mr. Rice as a result—she was glad to be back here, even if she suspected it was only for a little while.

“I’m kinda thirsty, Mr. Rice,” she said boldly. “Can I have a drink of water?”

“Sure you can, my dear,” he said. He drew the water for Yallia, saying as he did so, “I’m glad your mom and dad brought you here to see me today.” He handed Yallia the water.

“Thank you,” Yallia said, and gulped it down. When she was finished, she handed him the tumbler again. “Could I have some more, please?”

Rice refilled the glass. He handed it to Yalli and said, “That’s a lot of water you are drinking today, hon. Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

Yallia accepted the water gratefully. “Nah,” she said breathlessly. “But, Mr. Rice? The water tastes funny.”

Rice took the glass from her and sniffed it. “Really?” He drank down what was left. “Tastes okay to me. Do you feel sick? Your mom told me you were sick yesterday.” He looked suspiciously at the cup brim. “Are you sure you are feeling well, Yallia?”

“Yeah. It’s just the water.” She thought for a moment, then added brightly, “I know!” She hopped down from the step on which she had been sitting, grabbed the cup from his hands, and raced to the kitchenette.

“Don’t make a mess in there,” he called after her. Yallia rooted around in the cupboards for a few moments before emerging with a cylindrical container.

“What do you have there, dear?”

She had to hurry—he had stood up and was coming towards the kitchenette.