Halfway Human Read online

  Max’s eyebrows rose. Val headed for the studium terminal. At the door she stopped and looked back. “By the way,” she said, “I don’t think we’d better count on that contract with WAC.”

  Magister Gossup took her call right away. “Val, where are you?” he said.

  She couldn’t remember him ever using her nickname before. Making her voice even calmer than his, she said, “I’m at home. Don’t worry, Tedla’s with me.”

  He was speechless for several seconds. Then he said, “Valerie, what are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just what we all agreed. I get five days to interview Tedla before we reevaluate about the treatment. Tedla felt more comfortable at my house. You said yourself you agreed.”

  “I said—” he started, then thought better of it. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.” He paused indecisively.

  “Magister, I need you to make sure WAC leaves us alone till the time is up. No goons on my doorstep frightening my daughter, okay?”

  Evenly, he said, “Valerie, you’re going to have to bring Tedla back to the curatory. I’m sure you realize that.”

  “Of course,” she said, “after five days. If it still wants the treatment.”

  Magister Gossup closed his eyes for a moment. “Don’t do this to yourself, Valerie. Your whole career will be ruined. Everything you have worked for, gone.”

  Her stomach muscles clenched. He was her friend, he always had been. She had counted on him. Now she knew the boundaries of his support. “I’m right about this, Magister,” she said. “It’s better this way for everyone. For Tedla, for the delegates, even for WAC. Nothing bad is going to happen. I swear it.”

  “You cannot promise that. You don’t have control of the situation.”

  Frustrated, she blurted out, “If all of you would just trust Tedla a little, instead of trying to be so underhanded and full of subterfuge, maybe you’d find a solution everyone could live with. Why don’t you just tell Tedla what’s going on, and ask for its cooperation?”

  Gossup looked at her bleakly. “After the way it has been treated, Tedla has no reason to be loyal to Capella.”

  “After the way it’s been treated, it has no reason to be loyal to Gammadis, either,” Val said.

  “Well,” he said. “There is something in that.” For a moment he seemed to debate with himself, then said, “Let me speak to Tedla.”

  Tedla was sitting cross-legged on Deedee’s bed, looking at a book with her. Val said, “Tedla, Magister Gossup wants to speak to you.”

  Tedla looked up, awestruck. “Kpatksiro Gossup? The xenologist?”

  “Do you know him?” Val said.

  “We studied his work at C4D.”

  “Of course. I keep forgetting your training. Yes, that Gossup. He’s on the studium screen.”

  When Tedla sat down nervously in front of the terminal, Gossup said, “Hello, Tedla. How are you feeling?”

  “Very good, Magister. It’s an honor to talk to you. My tutor, Magister Delgado, made us read nearly every word you’ve written.”

  “Doubtless to take issue with them,” Gossup said drily. He and Delgado had been notorious rivals, once. All the same, it was clear that he was pleased by the information.

  Score one for Tedla, Val thought. She left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Max was in the dinery. Val sank down on a chair, weary with tension. He put a cup of coffee in front of her and sat down. “All right, what’s going on?” he said.

  She told him everything that had happened at the curatory. He listened quietly, shaking his head in disbelief from time to time. At the end he said, “That’s diabolical. What made them think they could get away with wiping someone’s memories for their own profit?”

  “What’s the value of memories?” Val said a little bitterly. “Only what the market will pay.”

  “I think I’m making you into a radical,” Max said.

  “Besides, what’s to stop them, as long as no one finds out? A deranged alien with no family and no ties on Capella Two—who was going to complain?”

  Max reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I’m proud of you, Val. You did the right thing.”

  “I hope you’re willing to live off righteousness for a long time,” she said glumly. “I’ve probably blown my whole career.”

  “And I love you for it,” he said.

  The studium door opened, and Tedla came out, looking a little glazed. It sank into a chair. Max got up and fetched it some coffee without a word. Val finally said, “Well?”

  “You did get in trouble, didn’t you?” Tedla said.

  “You might say that,” Val said.

  The neuter looked at her closely. “Why were you willing to risk it?”

  “Oh, it’s just one of my personality flaws,” Val said. “Ask Max. I’m always biting off more than I can chew.”

  Tedla looked dissatisfied with this answer. It said, “Humans always feel like they have to belittle themselves when they do something out of goodness or compassion. You always act as if you have to deny you have good motives. We blands are ashamed to seem too smart; you are ashamed to seem too good. I don’t know why you set up these standards of behavior for yourselves, then deny it whenever you get too close to them.”

  “Caught you,” Max said, grinning at Val.

  “Stop it, you two,” Val said. She needed to change the subject. “Did Gossup say you could stay here?”

  “He didn’t know,” Tedla said. “He asked me if I thought you would go to the nets. What did that mean?”

  Val and Max looked at each other. Max said, “You do have that option. WAC must be shaking in its boots, thinking you might do it.”

  “I don’t have any proof, just suspicions,” Val said. “No one ever said an illegal word to me. It was all implications.”

  “But you could tell the nets about the Gammadian delegation. That would still blow WAC’s negotiations. Everyone would be clamoring for access to them.”

  “You knew about the delegation?” Tedla said.

  “Since yesterday,” Val nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry, Tedla. I should have. There was so much else going on....What did Gossup say about them?”

  “He asked if I was willing to speak to them. I couldn’t believe he had to ask. People from my own planet! Why wouldn’t I want to speak to them?”

  “That was all he said?” Val probed.

  “Yes. Why?”

  Val was done with secrets. “They’re very worried that you’ll tell the delegates things about Capella that might interfere with trade negotiations. They’re trying to keep your compatriots in the dark about the value of their information.”

  Tedla looked incredulous, then laughed. “And they think the delegates would ask a bland about those things? Or believe me if I told them?”

  Val and Max exchanged another look. Val said, “You know, that’s probably true. They may be worried for nothing.”

  Max broke out laughing. “They need a xenologist on this project!”

  Val began to laugh, too. “To do them justice, that’s what they hired me for—background cultural research. I don’t suppose—” A thought struck her. “You know, I’ve still got an access card for WAC’s secret files on Gammadis. I bet they haven’t thought to cancel it yet.” She felt through her pockets and found it, a little bent from the fact that she had slept on it last night. She leaped up. “I’m going to go try it out. Don’t interrupt me for a while.”

  Sitting down at the studium terminal, she fed in the card. Almost immediately, a WAC logo appeared on the screen, and a mechanical voice prompted her to give her thumbprint for identification. With a qualm of apprehension, she pressed her thumb against the optical reader. The screen was silent for a long time, and she was preparing herself for disappointment, when Access Approved flashed on the screen. She gave a little whoop of triumph. Then, suddenly, she was inside the database.

  Scrolling th
rough the contents, she felt overwhelmed. There was a mass of it—hundreds of thousands of files, almost completely unindexed, raw data just as it was received off the PPC over sixty years ago. WAC clearly must have considered the Gammadis episode closed, or it would have spent some money processing the data. She opened a few files at random, to get a sense of what was there; she found geological reports, soil chemistry, atmospheric measurements, botanical catalogues. All dry as dust. The paired-particle device had been too limited to transmit more than the occasional image or graph, so most of the files were simple text. Doubtless the maps and models were all among the confiscated data.

  Scrolling through screen after screen, Val searched for anything that looked ethnographic. At last, realizing how much there was, she asked the sorter to search for the key word “Tedla.” She received an avalanche of filenames. Giving a low whistle, she sat clicking her thumbnail against her teeth, debating how to approach this. Choosing a file that looked different from the others, she was rewarded with a detailed anatomical description. “Gammadian proto-humans possess the precursor organs of internal genitalia for both sexes,” the doctor wrote; “the wolffian structures (male) and mullerian structures (female) are maintained in fetal form through puberty, when one set develops and the other is absorbed. In neuters, based on examination of this subject, both sets atrophy and are absorbed. While hormone treatments could presumably give it secondary sexual characteristics, it could never develop natural genitalia at this stage (age 15).”

  This file did contain a picture: a much younger Tedla standing naked before the camera, its face blank, eyes avoiding the lens’s gaze. Val quickly closed the file. This was more than she wanted to know about the anatomy of someone she had come to think of as a friend.

  She asked the sorter to list the “Tedla” files by author; this revealed that nearly all of them were Alair Galele’s weekly reports. She opened one at random, and immediately her attention was caught. While the other researchers had prepared formal reports full of statistics and technical analysis, Galele’s were like hasty diary entries, full of subjective reactions, written in a breathless flurry of abbreviations and half-sentences. Val began to understand Gossup’s reaction to Galele. Her tutor had no patience for sloppy methodology, and Galele was sloppiness incarnate. Still, there was something charming about his enthusiasm.

  She glanced at the clock at the bottom of the screen. She had already been in the database for half an hour. It was only a matter of time before they detected her and shut her out. Quickly she commanded the machine to download all the “Galele” files to her own private cache, followed by the rest of the “Tedla” files. She sat watching filenames flash across the screen; then a blue message appeared: Access Denied.

  “Damn!” she said, hitting the chair arm.

  From the other side of the studium door, Max’s voice came: “What happened?”

  “They caught me.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Well, I got something. I’m not sure what yet.”

  She went to look. Through some quirk, the sorter had wasted time downloading not only the files by Galele, but also a mass of messages sent back to Capella about him, including a number marked Urgent and Confidential. When she weeded them out and arranged the files by date, it appeared that she had gotten most of Galele’s early reports, but only a few additional useful files.

  Val opened the first report in the chronological list and began to read from the beginning.

  ***

  Down to the planet at last! No offense to august ancestors, but their spaceship is a damned crib, not meant for extended living, and three months was too much muscle-cramp and togetherness. At least we got a linguistic crash-course before braving the planet.

  Cruised low coming in. Beautiful place—vegetation everywhere—very rural—fewer signs of habitation than expected—no wonder First Contact team was surprised to find advanced civilization—population doesn’t seem sufficient.

  At airfield were welcomed cordially by assorted muckety-mucks, very glad to have us here & learn about us, etc. etc. They are quite used to the idea of us, thanks to four years of advance work by F.C. team.

  Gammadians here are tall, willowy, very beautiful—strong faces, light skin (presumably due to subterranean living, since sunlight has high UV content). Friendly, cordial, cultured, but with a reserve or slight wariness—one can scarcely blame them, not knowing our true motives.

  They took us down to their “convergence.” Entire city is underground. Large population center—250,000—in elegantly designed subterranean city. Not at all what you’d expect—very bright & airy—organized around light wells & air shafts—very clean. Their principal building mat’l., called lignis, is actually a viscous liquid which hardens in air, so they merely carve a cave out, shape the lignis into rooms with compressed air, & leave it to harden, when it becomes extremely strong & capable of polish, like wood or agate. The city, as a result, looks like a series of bubbles, all curves & grain, quite a pleasing effect. Learned all this from one of our hosts as we were descending into city center. My Gammadian seems sufficient—understand better than I talk—but waving of hands helps.

  They took us to a giant reception in a large, elegant hall lit by “piped” sunlight (optical fiber?). Fermented beverages, unidentifiable plant products (quite good), fewer animal parts. Modified vegetarians? Many long speeches, a choir for music, important (I assume) people to greet us. Greeting is by touching palms of hands together & briefly intertwining middle fingers. Sexual symbolism? I talked much in broken Gammadian about our desire to learn from them.

  Striking uniformity of age, both in city & at reception. No one under 15 or over say 75. Seems a city of the adult & middle aged. All healthy, not a sign of any illness, defect, or deformity. They are probably controlling what we are allowed to see. Even so, the obvious comfort & wealth is impressive.

  Sat down to a long & bibulous banquet which had me yawning (ship time was over 20 hrs.). Servitors were young men & women in livery. At last I glimpsed one of the third sex—at least, I assumed so—clearing away dishes along the perimeter of the room. “It” was smaller than other Gammadians, dressed in a drab uniform. Gone before I could get a good look. There must not be many of them. I tried to ask my table-mates, but could not make myself understood.

  They are debating where to send us. One school of thought is that we should all be kept here at the seat of learning & center of civilization (presumably so they can monitor us), another holds we should be scattered out among many communities with varying histories, industries, & customs (presumably to separate us so we can’t conspire). I favor the latter, but was careful (as F.C.s warned us) not to voice my opinion, though they tried to sound me out.

  They were very eager to know what I wanted to study. I told them life cycle, & they seemed a little taken aback—perhaps there is no discipline that addresses such topics here. They kept asking if I were a geneticist or physiologist (at least I think that’s what they meant).

  Clearly, our arrival has produced a crisis of sorts in their leadership. Since they have no centralized hierarchy, factions appear to be competing for control of us, & it appears likely we may be parceled out to equalize power. The function of the banquet was, I suspect, to size us up & decide who would be awarded to which group.

  At last they let us go to our rooms—a private one for each of us, quite a luxury after the ship. Mine is a suite of connected bubbles—bedroom, bathroom, closet or dressing room, breakfast room, study, lounge. Lavish use of space. They supplied towels, toiletries, robe, lounge wear, night clothes, slippers, & food in case I get peckish at midnight. Also what I take for soporifics and sexual aids (!). The bedroom has translucent lignis walls lit from behind, quite lovely. The bed is monstrous and round. Can’t figure which end is up. The arched ceiling over it is low & the walls are cozily close: like the primeval cave or womb. Comforting thought.

  ***

  Galele’s next report was dated a week later.
/>   ***

  They have put us through an exhausting obligatory tour of the great monuments—libraries, historic sites, natural wonders, great rooms (architecture being entirely interior). We saw some ruins that greatly excited the archaeologists; if they prove as old as the natives claim, we may have to revise the diaspora chronologies. Much travel by mechanical means. The usual self-congratulatory lectures. A nice thing: they are great lovers of beauty, natural & manmade. Landscape like an article of religion: they believe in “treading lightly” on nature. Will probably be much market for Gammadian art.

  They took us to a famous opera, Cloverine—a tragedy about the evil olden days when there were families! Protagonist was a woman of talent & ambition who is weighed down by social demands to have and care for babies. She is debilitated by pregnancy, betrayed by a fickle husband, exhausted by demands of motherhood, but stubbornly clings to her children (the fatal flaw?), struggling to support them. In the end she dies & the children—the oldest now a delinquent—are consigned to the state anyway. Gammadians seemed to find this tale most pathetic and satisfying. I was taken aback. They noted my reaction, & asked whether we oppress our women by “making” them rear children.

  Most extraordinary: There is no kinship system. None. They have entirely dispensed with the family as social unit. Only one of my guides knew who her parents were, and she had never met them. None knew siblings or children of their own. By their account, this is deliberate. Once, long ago (in Cloverine’s time), there was “clannishness,” as they put it, but it was engineered out of their social system, along with other ills such as “factionalism,” ethnicity, inherited social class, and nation-states. (All sources of divisiveness.) Even gender no longer divides them, since they grow up entirely without it. (Was their sexual development also engineered?)

  Children grow up in institutional “gestatories,” raised by professionals, never knowing their parents. On maturing (“matriculation”), they join an order or community, institutions that perform all economic, governmental, and social roles. All major resources are communal, not individual. The order or community offers cradle-to-grave security. Housing, food, spending money, medical care, social support, access to information—all through the order or community. No one needs a family.