Page 19 of Sentenced to Prism

  He was clad in his froporia armor, as he had been when he'd fallen asleep the previous day, but there was no sign of his glasses. Excepting their absence everything looked normal. It was the face of Evan Orgell that gazed anx­iously back at him, unaltered. Wasn't it? Something was wrong. Something was different, but for the life of him he couldn't tell what it was. Subtle and yet obvious, he was overlooking it while staring straight at it.

  Of course. Evan Orgell had brown eyes. The face in the natural mirror had eyes of pale violet. That was impos­sible, of course, unless he had been given contact lenses. He started to smile. Leave it to the physicians never to be satisfied. They had replaced the crude shades forged by Azure with tiny contacts that performed the same chores more efficiently. So precisely had they fitted them to his eyes that he hadn't even felt their presence. He reached up carefully with a finger preparatory to removing one lens for closer inspection.

  He blinked when he touched his eye. No lens rested on its surface. The headache wouldn't go away. It was joined by a gnawing suspicion. "What did you do to me?" he asked again, uneasier than ever. "You put something in my eyes, didn't you? Some kind of drops or something. That's why I can see without my sunshades. It changed the color of my eyes."

  "Not exactly," the first physician said, moving nearer. "We just thought that as long as we were operating on gatherer we might as well work on you too. For some time now, we've been thinking about a way to free you from the ungainly apparatus you were forced to wear over your eyes."

  Evan sat down, pulled his knees close to his chin and stared at the physician. "How did you do it?" He rubbed his hands over his eyes. Still no suggestion of newly inserted contacts. It had to have been some kind of drops, then. How long would they last before the effects wore off and he'd have to be redosed?

  He looked past his companions, found he could see farther into the forest than ever. Intense bursts of colored light erupted from previously dead‑looking growths. There was twice as much life in the forest as he'd suspected.

  "Is this how you see? Into the ultraviolet and the infrared as well as throughout the normal spectrum?"

  "I do not know what you mean by normal spectrum," the first physician replied, "but it was apparent from a cursory examination of your eyes that you were partially blind. We thought we could remedy this, as well as enable you to see in normal daylight without impairing your abil­ity to see at night. You are pleased?"

  "Of course I'm pleased, except for this damned head­ache. I guess it will go away. Must be from the initial effects of the drops."

  The second physician spoke up. "Drops? What drops?"

  Evan smiled. "The ones you used on me to produce this effect."

  The physicians looked at each other. "We used no drops," the first said.

  "You mean you built new lenses after all?" He frowned, rubbed at his eyes again. "I can't believe how tightly they fit. How do I get them out to clean them'?"

  "I told you," Azure said suddenly. "I told you."

  "Your body will clean them," the second physician informed him. "That is how it should be."

  "Not the back side. I don't care how tightly you man­aged to fit the new ones, microscopic dirt and grit can always slip between a contact lens and the cornea."

  "Evan," Azure said evenly, "you can't get them out."

  "Your old lenses were deficient, as I explained," the first physician reminded him. "There was no way to mod­ify them to see properly. So we replaced them."

  "I can see that." Evan pointed toward his old shades, lying nearby.

  "No. Your old lenses are here." Reaching into a cavity within his own body, the first physician removed some­thing small and shiny and held it out. Evan found himself staring transfixed at two small, glassy objects. They were oval when seen from the side, round when viewed from above. They quivered slightly in the physician's open hand.

  Evan stared at them until he began to shake violently. Finally he turned away, unable to look any longer. Despite the bright sunlight he was suddenly cold. But the head­ache was beginning to fade and there was no pain, though he was more conscious of his eyes than he'd ever been in his life. He kept them tightly shut, afraid to open them again.

  "It was not as difficult as one might suppose." Unaware of Evan's trauma, physician rambled on as though discussing the repair of a simple household utensil. "We have studied soft‑bodied forms intensively. We simply replaced your original lenses with new ones and made some small adjustments to the interpretation mechanism behind them."

  "You did something to the rods and cones," Evan mum­bled. "Something that enables me to see beyond the nor­mal visible spectrum in both directions as well as to interpret fractal shapes more clearly."

  Gently he used the tips of his fingers to press all around the orbits of his eyes. "What if it hadn't worked? What if I'd woken up completely blind?"

  "You must have more confidence." Library spoke for the first time since Evan had rejoined them. "These physicians are among the most artistic of their kind."

  "Your eyes are simple in form and almost identical to many we have studied," the second physician said. "The modifications were not complex. And we can always replace your old lenses anytime you wish us to do so."

  "Not complex. My God, what could you people do with access to a few basic biology texts? What other operations can you perform?"

  The first physician took another step toward him. "We have devoted much speculation to that. If you would like, we can‑"

  Evan retreated hastily. "No, no, you've done, more than enough!" He blinked at the wonderfully enhanced world around him. "You're sure you can restore my orig­inal sight if you have to?"

  The physician displayed Evan's original lenses a sec­ond time. "Reasonably sure. That is why I will retain them." In a gesture worthy of the most accomplished surrealist he slipped them back into a small body cavity.

  "I do hope you will elect to keep your new lenses," the second physician said. "It would be a shame to undo such a good piece of work."

  "I'll think about it," Evan told it. "In the meantime, promise me you won't perform any more surprise oper­ations? No matter how much you're convinced it will benefit me?" The physicians promised. Reluctantly, it seemed to Evan.

  "If we had told you of our intentions beforehand, would you have permitted us to perform the operation?" asked the second physician.

  Evan swallowed. "Look, I've been out for most of a day and a night. It's time we were moving on. And no modifications while I sleep, understand?"

  They pushed through the forest, leaving the river far behind. It was late afternoon when Azure came running back to rejoin them from his forward position. Instead of speaking immediately he reared back on his hind legs and listened intently.

  "What is it?" Library inquired impatiently.

  "I wish we had a talker with us to confirm."

  Wishful thinking indeed, Evan knew. The towering talkers had less mobility than any other member of the Associative, which was why none had come along in the first place.

  "Confirm what?"

  "Something is coming toward us. Very low‑grade ema­nations. Not intelligent."

  Suddenly Evan found himself joining his companions in scanning the surrounding growths. They were in a sec­tion of forest where the pure silicate flora had largely crowded out the organosilicates. Clusters of glassy gripes reached heavenward all around them save where they were shoved aside by thick brown arches. The crest of each arch was full of huge, weaving photoreceptors.

  Evan turned sharply to his left. "Wait a minute, I think I hear something too." This announcement was followed by a loud, splintering crash.

  The physician next to his legs looked around nervously. "I hear nothing."

  It struck Evan that his friends might be deaf at the lower frequencies, attuned as they were to radio fre­quencies they utilized for interpersonal communication. Something sporting half a dozen delicate wings set three to a side along a slim silicate body flew out of
the forest. It wasn't attacking and ignored the travelers completely. It boasted a long sharp bill and was bright pink with yellow stripes.

  It was followed by half a dozen equally bizarre flying things. Then a veritable silicate zoo came swarming toward them, running, rolling, and crawling its way eastward. Evan barely had time to note the new species as they raced past.

  They all had one thing in common: they were running from something. Azure had sensed it too.

  "Maybe we'd better run also." Evan took a step back­ward. "Back to the river."

  "Unreasoning flight is not the refuge of the intelligent," library pointed out. "We should not retreat until we have ascertained the nature of any potential danger." He didn't need to add that neither he nor the physicians were built for running.

  Evan tried to see through the dense undergrowth. It couldn't be a fire. There was nothing there to burn. Besides, he saw neither smoke nor flame. Suddenly two huge silicate trees shattered directly off to his left. Syrupy liquid began to fountain from the broken trunks. Evan's eyes widened.

  "A shervan!" the library shouted even as he turned to scramble for cover. But there was no cover from a sher­van. One simply got out of its way.

  Evan had encountered few large lifeforms since setting down on Prism and he could only gape in astonishment at this one, the most extraordinary by far. What he'd thought at first were long, thick tentacles sheathed in opaque glass revealed themselves on closer inspection to be mouths on the ends of muscular necks. Each maw was lined with a splendid array of rotating serrated teeth and appeared capable of functioning independent of its neigh­bors. He counted twelve snapping, voracious sets of jaws growing from a massive gray lump of body without visible eyes, ears, or anything resembling a sensory organ. It traveled on a series of flat plates that ran in a continuous band around its entire body, which propelled the entire organism forward with startling speed.

  Before Evan and his companions could scatter, one of the warriors was grasped by a powerful mouth. Two more mouths immediately attacked it from both sides while it squirmed desperately in the crushing grip of the first. Dismemberment occurred rapidly, but not before the doomed warrior had succeeded in damaging one neck with its own buzzsawlike teeth.

  Evan dodged around a tree, looking backward instead of where he was going. So he didn't see the mouth that was waiting for him until he felt the pain. The shervan teeth went right through his froporia armor and pulled away with most of the lower section. It also tore out a substantial chunk of his abdomen. He staggered back­ward, staring down at his exposed intestines.

  Another warrior jumped in and clamped its jaws on the neck, the sound of its rotating teeth harsh in Evan's ears. Flesh and silicate shards went flying. The mouth turned its attention to this new threat.

  Somehow he ran on despite the gaping hole in his gut. The shervan pursued with demonic speed. It bit again, at his chest this time, spinning Evan completely around. Bones splintered as pressure was applied. The warrior who had freed him once leaped to the attack again and this time succeeded in cutting completely through the neck.

  A human body can cope with only so much damage before the brain begins to shut it down. The last thing Evan remembered was a feeling of falling backward. n he lay there, still half‑conscious, and tried to follow the progress of the battle.

  The shervan seemed to be turning away. Having lost one mouth completely with two more badly injured it had apparently decided to seek less resilient prey. Evan could see first physician attending to various wounds. One war­rior at least had been killed and consumed, but by and large, his companions had survived the attack.

  Unfortunately, he thought as he passed out, he was only made of flesh and blood.

  They found him lying motionless in the patch of quick­weed where he'd fallen. In order to determine the full extent of his wounds the physicians hurriedly cut away what remained of his froporia armor. From what they knew of organic construction, it was clear that the damage was extensive.

  In order to prevent the kind of decay and infection soft things were heir to, second physician immediately sealed the damaged areas with a thin, aseptic transparent film. Blood quickly began to fill the two raw cavities. It was clear even to the warriors that if drastic surgery wasn't performed soon, their strange otherworldly visitor would not last until nightfall.

  The physicians were consulting nonstop. That peculiar pumping device which pushed red fluid through the entire system, for example, was badly damaged and functioning only fitfully. The same could be said for the twin gas bellows which lay over the pump and to the side, and for the chemical processing organs lying shredded in the main body cavity below. It was just as well Evan had passed out before becoming aware of the extent of his injuries. Had he known he undoubtedly would have given up on the spot.

  His companions, however, were appraising the situa­tion dispassionately.

  "It will be interesting," library said. "We have never before undertaken to repair such an extensively damaged organic form."

  "He won't like it." Azure glanced from processor, already working furiously, to the two physicians.

  "He has no choice," library pointed out, "and neither do we. The life will leave him unless he can be repaired." It gestured with a thin tentacle. "Look at that mess. You know how fragile these organic systems are. Something must be done, and quickly."

  "I am concerned about the shock when he regains con­sciousness," murmured the scout.

  "Let us worry about that if and when he regains con­sciousness," the first physician said. "If we do not hasten to repair the damage, he will never regain consciousness long enough to experience shock." It turned its attention back to the soft body. "This is going to take some time. We will maintain necessary functions through the use of our own bodies where necessary. I hope this Evan form is possessed of a strong constitution. He is going to need it if he is to survive our work." It gestured, spoke to its colleague. "I think it best if we begin with that pump."

  Second physician agreed. A tentacle reached toward that irregularly beating, pinkish‑red organ. Its silicate tip was bright and sharp.

  There was only the deep darkness. Then there was a distant, faint humming sound, soft and relaxing. Evan opened his eyes.

  He was lying on his back, staring up at faces. Not faces exactly. More like the product of some busy abstract sculptor. The sculptures moved away until only two remained. He recognized Azure and first physician.

  As he recognized he remembered: the terrible hot pain of the shervan's teeth cutting into him, ripping away huge gobbets of flesh, sending blood flying everywhere. He remembered gazing down at himself to see his guts hang­ing out of his belly like so many white ropes tom from a hidden spool. How detached his mind had been while considering his. evisceration. It was as if he'd been only a witness to the disaster instead of an intimate participant.

  In his mind he went over the long list of injuries he'd suffered. By any reasonable stretch of the imagination he ought to be stone cold dead. He was not. He did feel, though, as if he'd been run over several times by a large, heavy vehicle. His entire being ached, and he was glad of it. Another sign that he was alive. Everything seemed to be functioning properly, including the communications device the physicians had plugged into him. He was cer­tain of the latter because he could clearly hear Azure addressing the rest of his companions.

  "It works," the scout assured them.

  "Yes, I still work," he mumbled mentally, "but I shouldn't. I shouldn't be talking to you now." He knew why he was alive, of course: the physicians had been at work. Somehow, they had taken the mess the shervan had made of him and put it back together. He was almost afraid to look down at himself for fear of what he might see. A foolish and unbecoming fear, he told himself. What­ever he saw could not be worse than being dead.

  He sat up, noting that his newly modified eyes were functioning perfectly. Since he could now see well into the infrared he was not surprised to see that his lower abdomen was gene
rating a substantial amount of heat. That was normal enough for a human body.

  What was not was the transparent pane which had replaced his skin from the groin to just below his neck, much less the alien and unrecognizable shapes which lay behind it. He sat and stared, and stared.

  "Shock?" the first physician wondered.

  "I think not." The second stepped forward, rested a reassuring tentacle on Evan's right leg. "We were unable to repair the covering as it was too badly shredded. We cannot regenerate organic compounds such as those which comprise the covering you called skin. We haven't the necessary skills. So we repaired as best as we were able." Evan didn't comment. He was too engrossed in an inti­mate study of self.

  First physician moved to stand alongside his colleague. "We had no choice. You would have died. You were dying as we worked on you. We did the best we could. We had no choice."

  "I told you he'd be upset," Azure said.

  "Upset?" Evan recognized the croak as his own voice. He raised his gaze to the physicians. "I know I was dying. Hell, I should be dead right now. That I'm not I know is due entirely to your skills and the work you did. I'm just not used to the kind of work you did." He looked thought­ful. "You know, we have an expression, something about a `window onto the soul."' Gingerly he pressed against the transparent skin, discovered that it was flexible and remarkably tough. Behind it, his insides hummed away at keeping him alive. And some of them literally hummed.

  A lesser man might have fainted or gone mad. Not Evan Orgell. He was too conscious of his own invulner­able self. He wouldn't die because the universe obviously couldn't get along without him.

  First physician extended a tendril. "We concluded that this was the most important organ of all, so we replaced it first."

  "A good thing you were not struck in the head," second physician said. "That would have been beyond our skill."

  Evan looked down into his chest, past the silvery bal­loons that were flexing in and out, out and in. Behind the one on the left was a mass of plastic and tubing that pulsed at a different rate.