"Nothing about me is anything like you."
The man looked indifferent. "Doesn't matter. If a Human had hit me like that I'd want to smack him just as badly."
"Contemplation of violence against your own kind. What an astonishing racial conceit."
"Yeah, ain't it? That's why our Weave brothers love us so much." As one of the other guards approached, the man passed him his rifle and stepped behind Ranji. Slipping both arms underneath the prisoner's, the guard heaved him to his feet. A sensation as of stabbing needles tormented outraged muscles as the Human forcibly walked Ranji in circles to rush feeling back into his legs.
"I hope they decide you are Human."
"Why?" Ranji's grunts of discomfort elicited no sympathy from the man.
"Because then maybe we'll have the chance to meet up with each other another day, when you won't have whining rats and lizards to protect you."
Able to stand on his own now, Ranji shook himself free of the other's grasp. "I look forward to it," he replied placidly.
As the guard recovered his weapon he responded to the challenge with an utterly heinous, completely lurid Human response: he grinned.
Heida Trondheim was among those who now crowded the hallway. Ranji gazed thoughtfully in her direction as the guard nudged his spine with a rifle butt. "I'd love to spend some time alone with you, friend, but your keepers are getting anxious. Let's move it. And if you try anything again, if you so much as look funny in rny direction, I'll stun you right where it hurts. Assuming our equipment is similar in that respect as well."
Surrounded by wary, armed Humans and Massood, Ranji was marched back to the room from which he'd taken brief but exhilarating flight. This time they were careful to shut the door behind him.
Once back inside Trondheim came close. "It's all right. I don't blame you. You've been severely traumatized." She tried to put her hand on his shoulder but he shook her off. Hurt, she resumed her seat.
Once again he found himself surrounded by a roomful of curious gazes. "Go ahead. Show me all the pictures you want. Though if your intent is to amuse me there are simpler ways. But don't think you can ever convince me that I'm something I'm not."
The tall woman was shaking her head slowly. "You're Human. Like it or not, the evidence is overwhelming. If anything, that little outburst of yours just now confirms it. No Ashregan, no matter how altered or enhanced, could've gotten that far."
"Truly he is right." Attention shifted to First-of-Surgery. The elderly Hivistahm appeared to have handled the unpleasant episode well. "I do not think we will with words and pictures convince you," he told Ranji. "Your conditioning too ingrained is, too much a part of you. We will have to something more do."
"Go ahead," Ranji taunted him. "It won't make any difference."
Double eyelids blinked over snakelike pupils. "Truly I beg to differ."
11
He never knew how or when they slipped him the anesthetic. It might have arrived in his drink, or his food, or the air of his apartment. When he sensed the impending clutch of lugubrious drowsiness he tried to fight back, screaming imprecations and pounding the walls in a futile attempt to stay awake.
As awareness faded he found himself wondering why they suddenly felt the need to render him unconscious. Perhaps they planned to move him to another installation and, mindful of his recent outburst, were taking no chances. Considering his state of mind and demonstrated capabilities, he wouldn't have taken any chances when moving him either.
He appreciated the fact that oblivion came painlessly, but then Omaphil was a civilized place. He wondered how he would've been treated on the Human homework! That disagreeable thought was the last he recalled before sliding into a sleep of abyssal dimensions.
A great many individuals were gathered around view-screens scattered throughout the installation and elsewhere on Omaphil. The Surgery itself was uncrowded. First-of-Surgery was among those present, not to perform but to advise and observe. He had been teaching for so long that he no longer felt in possession of the necessary skills required to supervise the delicate operation. But he had been associated with the study from the beginning and realized that his presence would be a comfort to the others.
Another First-of-Surgery would handle the actual mechanics in conjunction with a highly experienced O'o'yan. Together they represented the zenith of Weave medical accomplishment.
Save for a single exception, interested Humans were excluded from the Surgery itself. While it was to be performed on a Human brain, no Human physician could have hoped to duplicate the sureness of movement and delicacy of touch possessed by Hivistahm or O'o'yan. They could only watch and envy.
Though everyone involved exuded confidence and expectation, an undercurrent of unease still permeated the proceedings. While the procedure had been thoroughly discussed and mapped out in advance, everyone realized they were entering unknown territory. Weave study of Homo sapiens had resulted in more than one surprise, not least to its own kind, and while expectations could be formulated, where the Human nervous system was involved nothing was absolute, nothing was certain.
In addition to the Hivistahm-O'o'yan staff there were two Humans in the Surgery: the man on the operating pallet, and a huge coppery-skinned male whose fine long-fingered hands seemed to have been lifted from a different body. Despite possessing skills which rendered him supreme among his people, he was present only to observe and advise. Hands which had worked on hundreds of his own kind would not go near this particular patient, would not in the event of emergency manipulate the microsurgical instrumentation. That would be left to aliens possessed of a touch finer than that of the greatest Human surgeons who had ever lived.
A thin sheet of softly opaque, nonreflective material covered Ranji-arr from the neck down. His forehead gleamed beneath the superb overhead lighting. Due to the nature of the tools which were to be used it had not been necessary to shave his skull. Invisible air clamps locked his head in place, allowing access by hands and equipment but no involuntary movement.
The attending physicians had already performed the operation many times on a virtual-reality simulator. Still, actual reality was different. If you made a mistake, there was no Reset button to push. In actual reality, patients died. So the surgical team was confident, but not certain.
The single Human towered over the roomful of Hivistahm and O'o'yan technicians, looking clumsy and out of place. His presence was something of a concession, and he knew it. Privately he had assured the two surgeons in charge that he would do his best to stay out of their way.
"As we begin," the Human said through his translator, "I have to remind everyone both present and looking on that we don't know what the result of our efforts will be. We may as readily kill as cure the subject. As those of you who have been following developments already know, scanning has detected at least one cluster of contained explosively carcinogenic cells implanted within the nodule. Any attempt to remove it would likely release these cells within the brain in a region where any hasty attempt at counteraction or emergency prophylaxis would be at least as damaging to the patient as the cells themselves. A carcinogenic time bomb, if you will.
"If this mechanism were located elsewhere in the body, we might be able to deal with it, but because it is buried deep within the cerebral cortex we cannot take the chance. Therefore it has been decided to leave the nodule in place and untouched while severing the neural connections between it and the rest of the patient's nervous system with nonintrusive instrumentation. The aim is to render the growth harmless without removing or traumatizing it."
"Truly this a delicate procedure is," said First-of-Surgery senior, continuing the explanation for the benefit of onlookers. "As is any manipulation of the interior of the brain." He turned to the table. "My colleague will now begin."
The other First-of-Surgery fingered sensitive controls. The operational details had been programmed into the relevant instrumentation earlier, movements and reactions having been gathered from numero
us operations carried out in virtual reality. The surgical computer would automatically compensate for any minute differences it detected between its programming and actual reality. Having installed the requisite programming and instructions, the surgeons' presence was required only in case something went wrong. Should it encounter anything unexpected in the course of the surgery, the master computer would pause the operation and ask for new instructions.
A small metal dish lowered on a gleaming automatic arm until it stopped a few centimeters above Ranji's skull. Medical scanners were active on both sides. Several small needlelike instruments projected downward from the dish.
"If we missed any neurological booby traps similar to the one we found earlier, we're likely to lose him," the tall Human muttered to no one in particular.
First-of-Surgery senior looked on intently as the sonic scalpel hummed softly for a split second. One needle shifted its position infinitesimally on the surface of the dish. Each time the needle moved and hummed a single neuron within Ranji's brain was severed.
"All that can be done has been done. Scanning was rescanned, computer-enhanced, and scanned afresh. No other 'traps' were found."
"Amplitur nanobioengineering is infernally subtle."
"Truly. But science it only is, not magic." A click of sharp teeth emphasized the point.
Monitors scattered throughout the Surgery displayed rock-steady images of the operation as it progressed. They could clearly see the ganglionic complex, the flow of blood through a nearby cerebral capillary, the neurons which connected the nodule to the rest of the patient's brain. One by one they were neatly severed with impossibly brief, precisely applied bursts of high-frequency sound, progressively isolating the nodule with the intent of rendering it as harmless as a benign tumor.
"I've heard," the tall Human murmured as his attention shifted from monitor to subject and back again, "that there are some on the staff who wouldn't be particularly distressed if during the course of the operation this patient happened to die. This Ranji-aars no monster. He's a normal Human who had his birthright stolen from him before he was born."
"I have his genome map seen. You do not me need to convince," replied First-of-Surgery.
"Sorry." To his surprise the man found he had bitten his lower lip. He'd never done that before, but then this was no ordinary surgery. There was more than one life at stake here. All of the subject's friends were also potential candidates for cutting. Though if they failed to restore this first one . . .
He knew that if he lived to be two hundred he could never hope to match the supernal precision of the medical computer or the programming skill of the Hivistahm, but something within him still made his fingers twitch slightly, as if he and not binary impulses were manipulating the instruments.
First-of-Surgery interrupted his thoughts. "I know of those of whom you speak. They believe that this individual and all like it should on sight be killed. They the interbreeding and contamination fear which could to Amplitur subjugation of the Human species lead.
"They do not individual salvations consider. As physicians we differently think."
Not to mention how much you can learn from him so long as he lives, the Human surgeon mused. Though he could not condemn the Hivistahm. Not when he felt the same way.
Except for the barely audible, methodical sparking of the scalpel and the click of other instruments the Surgery was as quiet as a tomb. Above the patient nothing moved save the scalpel's angustipunctal needle.
Only when the gleaming dish rose and withdrew, its programming completed, was the air filled with general conversation in several tongues and the febrile hum of busy translators. The scanners showed the nodule clearly, isolated and no longer connected to the rest of the patient's brain. Even so, it was far too soon for shouts and hisses of triumph. Apparent success required medical confirmation.
The attending physicians crowded around the various technical stations, anxiously scanning readouts and eyeing monitors. The patient's cerebrum did not explode. No armies of ravening cells were released from the nodule to destroy his brain. Circulation, respiration, wave functions, and all relevant vital signs read normal. There was no internal bleeding. First-of-Surgery allowed himself to gnash his teeth hopefully.
To the Human physician hardly any time seemed to have elapsed since actual surgery had commenced. He left the monitor he'd been studying to rejoin First-of-Surgery.
"That should do it. When he wakes up he won't be any different from before, except that for the rest of his life he'll carry a minuscule knot of useless cells around in his brain, and any Amplitur that tries to give him 'suggestions' will be in for a big surprise. Assuming that the operation has restored his nervous system's natural defensive mechanism, of course."
"It enough is that he can no longer be subject to their mental whims," said First-of-Surgery decisively. "That the principal intent of the operation was. If the Human defense also restored is, that is a bonus to him." First-of-Surgery looked thoughtful. "I also believe the knowledge can and should from the general Weave population be withheld."
Conversing in low tones, the two physicians left the Surgery, together with the rest of the staff which had supervised the sensitive operation. Their patient remained behind. A second surgical team had entered and was busying itself with checkouts of fresh programming and different instrumentation.
The sonic scalpel had withdrawn into the ceiling. Its position above the recumbent form was now taken by different instruments riding on slightly larger supportive arms. While the nature of the initial procedure had been far more sensitive, the second was to prove messier, for the newly arrived team planned to remove the excess bone from the patient's cheeks, rebuild his ears, shorten his fingers, and restore additional bone around his unnaturally wide occipital orbits.
It was their intention to render the patient as Human externally as the first team had made him within.
It did not matter that there were no Humans among them. Hivistahm and O'o'yan physicians knew the physiology of Homo sapiens inside and out, having spent much of their careers repairing injured Human soldiers. Artists as much as surgeons, they were completely confident that when the protective wraps were finally removed the patient would resemble anything but a member of a hostile species.
The Human surgeon who'd been present would have preferred to have remained to see that day, but knew how unlikely it was. His presence was required in combat. Few Humans chose anymore to enter professions at which other species excelled. This made the value of those who did so that much greater. The surgeon understood the situation completely. It was both simpler and more gratifying to specialize in what a Human did best.
Killing.
12
Funny thing about mirrors. Like individual thoughts, they can't be avoided forever. After some time had passed, Heida Trondheim came to see him. She talked, and he listened. There was an exchange of inconsequentialities punctuated by long silences. Then she left.
Ranji's next visitor was a lanky Human male, slightly shorter, slightly older than himself, a little lighter in color. Not a mirror image, but close.
That's when Ranji allowed himself to cry, not much caring whether they happened to be Human or Ashregan tears. It was a strain on his surgically altered eyes, but he ignored the discomfort. The young man, puzzled, returned the room to Trondheim.
Ranji still had to use a translator to talk to her. He might look Human, might be Human, but his speech remained that of another species. She was very patient with him.
"Appearances," he mumbled. "Just appearances. Why?"
"Because you should look like what you are," she replied straightforwardly.
He tilted his head back to stare at the recovery-room ceiling. "I admit that visually the change is striking, but that doesn't mean I accept it intellectually."
"You've been more thoroughly analyzed and appraised than any single Human being in recent history. While Humans and Ashregan look a lot alike, subtle chemical and physical dif
ferences remain. The Amplitur missed some of those. They didn't alter everything. You're definitely Human. As Human as I am."
He looked back at her. "Why doesn't that possibility mime with glee?"
Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the single door. First-of-Surgery entered, resplendent in dress vest and shorts. Even for one so cosmopolitan it took an effort of will to enter a room occupied solely by Humans, but he concealed his unease gracefully.
Ranji was shown reams of charts and figures (which could have been faked) and dozens of three-dimensional pictures (likewise fakable). The senior Hivistahm was very persuasive, but not completely convincing. Numbers and words were feeble levers with which to try and topple a person's entire life. The brief visit of the young Human who had so closely resembled him had carried more weight than all their statistics.
Though unprepared to acquiesce, he confessed a willingness to contemplate possibilities. First-of-Surgery considered it a victory.
"My head hurts," Ranji muttered.
Three claws on the Hivistahm's right hand snicked together. "As well it might, considering the quantity of excess bone that has from both sides of your skull been removed. A portion was used your occipital orbits to restore to normal Human diameter. For the same reason your appropriately shortened fingers will ache for a while. The discomfort will pass."
The disconsolate patient fingered the thin bedsheet. "Why bother? Why go to the trouble?"
"So that you'll be comfortable among your own kind," Trondheim told him. He looked over at her.
"My kind? Which 'kind' is that? You?"
She didn't look away. "Yes. Me. It helps to explain ... certain things."
"There more is." First-of-Surgery found a suitable seat. "The ganglionic complex the Amplitur emplaced in your cerebrum remains, but all neural connections between it and the rest of your brain severed have been. It can affect you no longer."
"I see," he said quietly. "This means that the Teachers can no longer communicate directly with me?"