Page 16 of Sentenced to Prism

  "I was afraid of that. I didn't mean to raise false hopes. I was hoping your own hearts could be modified to store more energy. You can't just add another organ to your bodies, even if it could be duplicated without the use of sophisticated microprocessor‑controlled machine tools."

  Azure looked up at him innocently. "Why not?"

  "Well‑because."

  "I am no physician or library, but that does not strike me as a reasonable explanation. You must not underes­timate the skill of the physicians. They can rebuild almost any part of a body. Except the mind, of course. You cannot rebuild memories."

  "I don't think you can handle lithium in a free state either, but it looks like they're going to have to find that out for themselves." When final discouragement set in, he decided, he didn't want to be around to witness it. He rose. The others ignored him. "I'd like to see the rest of the Associative at work. I've still got a lot to learn about it."

  "Truly," agreed Azure ambiguously.

  He spent most of the remainder of the day watching the inhabitants of the community go about their daily tasks, marveling at the skill of the gatherers, exchanging stares with the big‑eyed scanners, chatting with other scouts. It was late afternoon when he and Azure returned to the meeting place. He sat down and hardly took notice when the talker outside plugged itself in.

  "You see," he said as gently as possible, "there are some substances that just can't be manipulated by hand. Or any other kind of limb."

  The first physician sounded apologetic. "Actually, we have already placed the newly grown organs within our­selves and the libraries. We will be working on the war­riors next."

  Evan frowned. "New organs?"

  "Similar to the storage organ you showed us. Very ingeniously constructed. We had to make certain modifications‑ we are not keen on metal, for example. It makes us itch."

  "Look, you can't grow batteries the way you raise wheat. They have to be‑"

  "Yes, that is what we will call them." Ignoring their confused guest, the physicians exchanged a brief flurry of information. The second looked up at him.

  "Would you like to see one?"

  Evan said nothing. The physicians construed his silence as acceptance.

  A line of warriors was waiting outside the meeting place. One entered and lay down between the physicians. In a minute it was stiff and immobile, though whether the coma was self‑induced or a result of some medical sleight­of‑hand by the physicians Evan couldn't tell.

  They went to work silently. Two linked themselves directly to the motionless form by means of tubular limbs. The other pair peeled back strips and plates of silicate material, exposing the interior structure of their guardian. Throughout the operation the warrior never stirred.

  The two physicians doing the delicate work turned to face each other. Substances began to appear from the tips of organs, to be formed into a tiny shape as the viscous matter solidified. The finished product was a little larger than Evan's fist. It was a dull gray except for the numer­ous thin glassy fibers that protruded from both ends. It looked like nothing he'd ever seen before.

  They turned back to their patient and delved still deeper, until they had exposed a yellowish organ shaped like a pipe. Evan recognized the silicate heart. It did not beat, of course. Unlike a mammalian heart it delivered its steady flow of energy to its owner quietly and without visible movement.

  As he stared, the physicians disconnected several small bundles of the fibers emerging from one end of the organ. A hollow was carved out and the newly formed mass of silicon carefully emplaced. Fibers were connected and sealed. Then the body cavity was closed back up.

  The other pair of physicians disconnected themselves, leaving the warrior to function on his own. One touched a thin limb to the heavily armored skull. Black lenses clicked together over red eyes. Another minute and the patient was back on its many feet. Evan watched in amazement as it thanked the physicians before turning to depart. Outside, its comrades were waiting to question it. A second warrior moved forward in anticipation of its own operation.

  "Don't you feel pain?"

  "Usually it can be restricted by shutting down certain parts of the body," the first physician informed him. "It depends on how extensive the damage is and how large the area to be repaired. We thank you for the gift of this wondrous new organ."

  "But it's not an organ," Evan protested. "It's a battery, and you don't just make one out of regurgitated goo."

  "What do you consider to be an organ?"

  "Well, it's a part of the body, the overall structure, that performs a clearly defined function contributing to that body's continued healthy operation."

  "I could not have defined it better myself. The com­pounds and structure involved are quite simple. We are simply improving on nature. Do you never do this to your own bodies?"

  "No. I mean it's different." Well, was it? I‑low many people back on Samstead did he know who had artificial organs or limbs of one kind or another? No, it wasn't the thought of placing an artificial organ in a member of the Associative that challenged conventional thought, Evan decided. It was the method of manufacture that seemed so outrageous. It couldn't work. You couldn't just slap together a lithium battery because its design was . . .

  Very simple, wasn't it?

  Could it actually work? And if it did, what other machine‑manufactured devices could the physicians of Prism mimic?

  "If this functions as it should," the third physician told him with barely concealed glee, "the Vwacorites are going to be in for quite a shock."

  "We'll know tonight," the fourth added. "By then we should have all the warriors modified."

  "Not to mention the scouts," Azure added.

  The Vwacorites did indeed return late that night. This time they came armed with weapons that resembled bows of blue glass that could fire many‑pointed shards of silica. They could have cut Evan and any other interfering organic to ribbons. But Evan had no intention of exposing himself to those quartz arrows, nor did he have to. The warriors held their positions until a signal launched them at the invaders. So overwhelming and unexpected was the coun­terattack that the raiders offered no resistance. They sim­ply could not believe what was happening. Something had turned the natural order of things on its figurative ear. The Vwacorites were unable to adjust.

  Powerful limbs and jaws took the more vulnerable invaders apart. Buzzsawlike teeth and jaws ripped through silicate exoskeletons to make short work of the soft flesh inside.

  The surviving Vwacoftes had barely enough sense to retreat back into the forest. If it had been left to the warriors none would have escaped the ambush, but the libraries had decreed that some should live so that they might inform others of their kind that this Associative, at least, ought to be left alone at night as well as during the day. No longer would the members of the community greet the darkness in fear. No longer would the hard‑won booty of the gatherers and processors be carried off with impunity by unseen thieves.

  In showing them the lithium wafer battery Evan had done more than demonstrate one small aspect of humanx technology. He had given back the night to the most intel­ligent inhabitants of Prism.

  He had already surmised that the members of the Asso­ciative were not given to effusive displays of emotion, but that didn't prevent their taking time off the following day for a brief celebration. Many invocations were made to the sun, that source of all life. Evan approved, for like all living things he too drew his strength from the sun, if rather less directly than his newfound friends. There was also something akin to a concert, with the libraries gen­erating (via the talkers) a great deal of amplified noise that closely resembled electronic music.

  "I've been thinking," Evan started to tell the first phy­sician during a lull in the cacophony.

  "A laudable enterprise."

  He smiled. "If you can analyze the structure of and then duplicate naturally something as simple as a wafer battery, I wonder what you'd do with a more complex energy
‑storage system. You might be able to mimic a unit that would enable you to function for several days of continuous darkness."

  "That thought has occurred to us already," said Azure. "The physicians are working on it now." A hint of pride reverberated in his mental voice.

  Evan hoped he didn't come across as condescending. "Duplicating an existing design is one thing, but I'm not sure you have the wherewithal to make improvements. You don't have any background in microengineering or manufacture, for one thing."

  "You may be right," the first physician conceded. "I do not understand the meaning of those terms. All we know how to do is repair our own bodies. But it is fun to try."

  "Well, you know what can hurt you and what can't."

  "Yes, that is so."

  Evan had the most peculiar feeling that the physician was trying hard not to sound condescending to him.

  "Actually," the alien continued, "we have been con­sidering the possibility of building an improved battery organ for you."

  Evan tapped his wrist below the glowing emergency beacon. "That's all right. There's plenty of power left in this one yet. I just activated it recently."

  " No, you misunderstand." The physician waddled for­ward and traced a circle over Evan's chest. "For you."

  The range of expressions that played over Evan's face would have been fascinating to another human observer. "You don't understand," he said finally, speaking slowly and clearly with his mind. "I run on chemical energy, not solar. I don't have a battery. My heart doesn't store energy the way yours does, and there's no way to supplement its supply. I have millions of much smaller batteries called cells."

  "I see," said the physician after a moment of careful deliberation. "There is much about organics we do not know, though we have studied them at every opportu­nity."

  1 am not a new opportunity, Evan felt like informing them brusquely, but it shouldn't be necessary to point that out. "I appreciate the thought, really. A battery wouldn't be a bad idea. Maybe I wouldn't get hungry as often as I have been here lately. But I'm afraid the analogy doesn't hold up where my body is concerned."

  "What a pity," murmured the fourth physician. "You don't mind if we continue to discuss the concept, though. Purely for our own amusement."

  "Not at all." He was curious to see what bizarre ideas they might come up with. Maybe one of them would sug­gest building him a second stomach.

  Yes, he was curious, because he'd seen what they could do, and it implied opportunities for profit no one could have foreseen. These natives were evidently able to synthesize complex structures from raw materials. Imagine several of them assigned to a company starship. He won­dered about their tolerances for extremes of heat and cold. They did not breathe. He envisioned several trained phy­sicians living on the skin of a ship, attending to dangerous and complex repairs without the encumbrances of suits or tools, growing the necessary replacement parts within their own bodies.

  Farfetched? Certainly, but no more extreme than what he'd already seen on Prism. Exploration of such possi­bilities required that several things come to pass first, however. Not the least of these was that he return safely to the station in the company of Martine Ophemert, if possible, without her if not.

  The Associative's talkers easily triangulated the rap­idly weakening beacon, and the expedition to accompany Evan was decided upon. It would consist of a gatherer and processor, two of the physicians, an appropriate num­ber of warriors, and, of course, Azure. After some dis­cussion it was determined that the first library should also go. Not so much to aid Evan in his purpose as to ensure that whatever knowledge the group gleaned would be pre­served for the education of the community.

  Evan was repacking his supplies on the morning set for departure while the rest of the group assembled out­side the meeting place. "Why not bring along a talker?" he asked Azure. "That way we could all stay in touch with the rest of the Associative."

  "It would take ten times longer to reach your friend," the scout explained, "and you have indicated it is impor­tant to find her as quickly as possible. Talkers are not very mobile. They prefer to remain in one place and move only when the entire Associative moves to a new loca­tion." Azure seemed to hesitate a moment, then added, "The question of talking has provoked much discussion these past several days. It has also engendered an experiment, of sorts. Physicians, processors, and the libraries have collaborated on it."

  "Really?" Almost through with his repacking, Evan looked up curiously at the glassy face only centimeters from his own. "What kind of experiment?"

  Again the hesitation before replying. "It is in the nature of a present."

  "You don't say?" Evan hadn't noticed much in the way of arts and crafts within the Associative, but out of polite­ness if naught else he'd certainly accept whatever bauble or trinket they'd decided to bestow on him.

  While he waited, a solemn procession entered the meeting place and lined up to face him. The first physician stepped forward. Evan extended a hand to accept the gift. The physician eyed the limb, then turned to speak rapidly at Azure.

  "It is not something you carry with you," the scout tried to explain. "It is something you carry with you."

  "Well, that clarifies it," Evan said dryly.

  Azure elaborated. "It is an insertion."

  Evan frowned, withdrew his hand. "A whaaat?"

  "We have studied organic forms intensively and have accumulated a great deal of knowledge about their design. The libraries and physicians retain all such information. In addition, I have been able to study your particular anatomy intimately these past many days. Particularly while you slept. This learning I passed on to the libraries."

  Evan felt himself tensing. "You studied me while I was asleep? Without my knowledge?"

  "It did not seem to trouble you."

  "It troubles me now!" Evan had visions of alien limbs probing his motionless body, of pains and discomforts barely sensed. It wasn't that he found the revelation revolting‑‑ after all, the probing had never even awak­ened him from a sound sleep. It was just that it was, well, discourteous. A man's body is his castle.

  But not to Azure's kin. To them it was a new book, to be read and studied. "I am sorry for that. What will you do with the present?"

  He held up both hands. "Nobody's sticking anything in me, no matter how well intentioned."

  "Your pardon, but you have accepted communications tendrils from the talker and myself, without injury or hurt."

  Evan lowered his hands. He was not xenophobic, and he was curious. "Let's see the damn thing, anyway."

  After a brief conversation the third physician stepped forward and held out a hand. The entire hand was no larger than the nail on Evan's small finger. The open palm was ringed by minuscule digits. Within the center of the palm was what looked like a splinter of brown crystal. Evan had to lean close and squint to make it out. He had expected something considerably larger.

  "That's the present?" Azure said yes. "Where is it supposed to go‑assuming I'd allow it to go any where­ and what's it supposed to do?"

  "It will fit in your empty plug," Azure informed him slowly, "and will enable you to communicate not just with me but with any member of the Associative, without the complication of communications tendrils. It will permit you to talk as we talk. For private conversation tendrils must still be employed, but we have nothing to hide from you and you have no tendrils of your own in any case."

  Evan gazed at the minuscule fragment in fascination. It had been manufactured‑no, grown‑by the members of the Associative. Specifically for him. To fit his plug. Was it possible? And if it was possible, what of the unreal possibility it raised? To wit: if two humans were equipped with such a device, would it permit mind‑to‑mind com­munication between them?

  The advent of one of mankind's most cherished and ancient dreams, here, on this primitive, berserk world? Telepathy?

  Well, no, he told himself. Not telepathy. A kind of radio to radio to mind broadcasting. The app
earance of telepathy without the substance. Dare he let these hard‑bodied aliens monkey with his mind?

  Hadn't they already?

  "You must trust the physicians," Azure implored him. "They know exactly what they are about, and can draw on the knowledge of the libraries for confirmation. They would not attempt anything they did not think they could carry out."

  Evan took a deep breath. "How much cutting is involved?"

  "No cutting. Only connecting."

  That was something. Since the transplant was not com­posed of organic materials, his body's immune system ought to ignore it. "What about pain?"

  The first physician addressed him via the talker out­side, and sounded offended. "We are physicians!"

  Everything the members of the Associative had done thus far had been on the up and up. They had helped him without being asked, and he had reciprocated as best as he'd been able. Every dealing to date between man and members had been of mutual benefit. It would be won­derful, of course, to be able to make the forthcoming journey without Azure draped around his neck, and to be able to talk directly to any one of his companions‑to‑be.

  When he finally consented, however, it was not to gain those very real advantages. He did it because of what its success would imply for the future. "What do I do?" I am completely out of my mind, he thought.

  "Lie down," Azure instructed him.

  Evan complied, closing his eyes and removing his crys­tal sunshades. He had accepted those and the suit of white armor readily enough, but that was very different from having something inserted inside his body. He could sense shapes surrounding his head, moving close. Azure's ten­drils were withdrawn. He felt oddly light‑headed, a con­dition that commonly affects those on the verge of a great discovery‑ or a sea change. With Azure unplugged, would any of them understand the meaning of a human scream?

  Touches at his left ear, so faint and delicate it might have been nothing more than a light breeze. A soft hum­ming sound, pleasant and relaxing. It must have been some kind of sonic anaesthetic, for he felt no pain. He thought of music and to keep his mind busy and content he tried to recall special works of art and match them mentally to different compositions. A dim, distant part of him shouted desperately, What are you doing? He ignored it, preferring instead to concentrate on the gentle susur­ration washing over his mind.