He needed a woman’s viewpoint. He’d expected to receive this from Beris, but after what Brek had said, discussing it with Beris was out of the question. So was discussing it with anyone else’s wife, and to ask one of the unattached Scholar women might look like—well, like a proposal. He was not ready for that yet. He went, therefore, to Lianne, who he knew wouldn’t take it that way, and who had specifically claimed to understand all kinds of upsetting feelings. It occurred to him that her gift of empathy might be very useful under the circumstances.
Lianne listened, and she wasn’t shocked. Noren realized, after they’d talked a while, that her remarks had been very neutral, very noncommittal. “What about it, Lianne?” he demanded finally. “Would you support this if it came up in a general meeting?” Not yet having committed herself to the priesthood, Lianne wouldn’t be entitled to vote at a meeting even if there should be one; but he valued her opinion.
“Noren,” she said soberly, “I—I don’t think you should rely on what think. I’m different. I told you that. I’m not like other women here; I don’t plan to marry—I’ve never even wanted a baby. So how can I give you an answer that’s valid?”
“You’ve never
wanted
a baby?” He had never heard of a woman being quite that different.
“Well, the rest of my feelings are normal,” she said, turning red. “Noren, how can you be so brilliant and yet so blind to what is custom and what isn’t? You’ve dreamed plenty of library dreams. You know lots of women on the Six Worlds didn’t want babies. That doesn’t mean they didn’t want—” She broke off. “Look, I wouldn’t be embarrassed if you weren’t, but you are, and I—I’m making things worse with every word I say! Go get some other woman’s opinion.”
“Wait,” he said. “You can answer the other question. Do you believe we should do what we have to do to survive, even though it means not fulfilling the whole Prophecy, the part about cities and machines for everyone?” He’d received surprisingly little opposition on those grounds from the people he’d talked to—the discussion had always turned to more emotional channels.
“Yes,” Lianne declared. “I believe we should. But that’s not what the argument will be about. It will be, among other things, about whether we can survive and fulfill the Prophecy, too.” Her composure restored, she gave him a strangely compassionate look. “You’re in a more difficult position than you know,” she said, her voice so low that she seemed to be speaking mainly to herself.
That was exactly what the First Scholar had said to him.
*
*
*
Having exhausted the supply of potential allies in whom it seemed safe to confide, Noren turned to the work itself, feeling that once he proved the method practical, people would be easier to convince. But that too involved serious problems. He hadn’t anticipated having to keep the animal experimentation secret; he’d thought that before he reached the stage where it was necessary, the project would be officially approved. It was one thing to spend a lot of time in the computer room studying genetics—for all people knew, he might be developing some wonderful new mathematical basis for the synthesization of metal. Nuclear experimentation was at a standstill in any case, since for the past year the existing theory had been recognized as inadequate. It was not hard to explain why he stayed away from the nuclear research lab. Explaining a desire to work in the biology lab was another matter.
Scholars were, to be sure, free to choose their own work. Council approval was required only for things involving allocation of irreplaceable resources; the use of one’s time was one’s own business, in theory, anyway. In practice, use of it for any nonessential purpose was not a way to win friends.
There was no essential work for a Scholar in biology. Such equipment as existed was used almost exclusively for the training of doctors, most of whom were Technicians—and this meant it was located in the Outer City. The only lab Noren was free to visit easily was a small one for medical research, which was done in the Inner City because of the requirement that all volunteer subjects must be Scholars. There was little such research, as facilities were too limited. Metal instruments, drugs—they just couldn’t be manufactured, not the complex ones common on the Six Worlds. Many disorders that had been conquered there were again incurable, and would remain so. The lethal diseases of the new world, against which no one had natural immunity, were controlled by vaccines manufactured in the Outer City and routinely administered to each generation of children by Technicians.
A search did continue for antidotes to the poisons given off by native plants, and better treatments were being developed for illnesses caused by them. This was the only real area of progress, and the one in which volunteer subjects were used. Noren had participated once, shortly after his entry to the Inner City. Then, he’d known nothing about what was going on; he’d been miserably sick and had not paid attention to the equipment, which, for lack of adequate space, was crowded into a compartment adjacent to the room where he lay. Thinking back, it occurred to him that he’d have had easy access to it—and a good excuse for running experiments merely for his amusement.
Bacteria, viruses… he would have to learn to work with them before he could try experiments with animals in any case. He would have to prepare the vaccines. A vaccine to be used for genetic alteration did not work in the same way as one to produce immunity against disease, and it wasn’t made in the same way either. But to an observer who’d never heard of genetic engineering, one culture dish would look like another.
Yet there was just no legitimate reason he could offer for spending weeks in that laboratory. Even Stefred might start wondering if he did; Stefred knew that despite the ordeal of the nightmare, he wouldn’t abandon all useful endeavors for what could only seem an obsession with a fascinating hobby. Realizing this, Noren evolved a quite desperate plan.
After absorbing everything he could from the First Scholar’s records, he thought through every detail of the lab work carefully, transferring essential data to computer-generated study discs. Unobtrusively, he gathered the necessary supplies, even making one trip to an Outer City lab not visited by a Scholar within memory—a whole roomful of Technicians knelt in silence while he took what he needed, none of them questioning, and none ever likely to encounter another Scholar to whom they’d venture to mention the incident. At night, he stored everything in the cabinets of the medical research lab, which like all Inner City facilities was unlocked. Since Scholars had complete trust in each others’ integrity, by custom they made no checks either on people or on equipment. One bore full responsibility for one’s own acts.
When ready, he went to see the doctor in charge of medical research. “I’m not getting anywhere studying physics,” he stated honestly, “and—and right now I can’t face any more of it. I’ve got to have some kind of break, yet I can’t just sit around without doing anything useful.”
“Have you talked to Stefred?”
“Yes, weeks ago. He says I’m not ill. Yet I haven’t been able to get back into my work routine.”
The doctor sighed. “What you need is a vacation.”
“A what?” Noren had never encountered the word.
“On the Six Worlds people took time off from work, a few weeks out of every year, usually. Took trips just for a change of scene. Sometimes I think we’d be more productive in the long run if we could do that, though it wouldn’t be acceptable in our society. The outpost helps; what a pity you’ve already been there.”
“Yes.” It was indeed a pity, for he could accomplish a great deal more at the outpost; he could even experiment on work-beasts. The thought of bringing one of the gigantic, clumsy work-beasts into the Inner City was, of course, ludicrous, so his “animal experiments” here would have to be confined to fowl. But the outpost was new, and all Scholars were eager for terms of duty outside the walls that had traditionally imprisoned them. It would be years before he got a second chance. “I need a change of scene, all right,” Noren continued. “That’s why I thought if I could be of use to you—”
“I’m sorry,” replied the doctor, shaking his head. “I won’t tell you what you already know, that we all feel you’re most useful in physics and would be wasting your talent if you were to switch fields. You’re brilliant. I’m sure you’d make a fine medical researcher. But Noren, it takes long study. I can’t use an untrained lab assistant.”
“Of course you can’t. That’s not what I mean. I had in mind volunteering for something more—restful.” He tried to put a brave face on it.
“There’s a long list of volunteers. Besides, a week or so of bed rest wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t solve anything for either of us,” Noren agreed. “Look, your project data’s in the computers like everyone else’s; I have the right of access to it. I know what you haven’t any volunteers for, haven’t requested any for because it would take too much time away from their own work. You’ve developed a new treatment for purple fever.”
Frowning, the doctor observed, “You’re serious! I think maybe you should check back with Stefred.”
“What for? So that he can tell me I’m too honest with myself to resolve my subconscious conflicts by coming down with some psychosomatic illness, one that might confine me to the infirmary for weeks without being of practical benefit to anyone?”
“You’ve got a point, I’ll admit. And there’s no denying that purple fever’s a real problem in the villages.” He appraised Noren thoughtfully. “If you’ve read that report, you know we can’t cure it; it has to run its course. The treatment, if it works, will make it somewhat less painful and less apt to produce permanent crippling—that’s all.”
“There’s no significant danger of crippling, is there?”
“Not if you don’t overexert yourself. Villagers often do.”
“I won’t set foot out of this lab,” Noren declared fervently.
The next few days were worse than he’d anticipated. He had been warned that he’d be given no hypnotic anesthesia, which after all would defeat the purpose of the experiment; villagers couldn’t be kept under hypnosis during long-term illnesses since doctors couldn’t be in constant attendance away from the City. There was a hospital to which injured patients could be taken by aircar, but purple fever victims couldn’t be moved. Painkilling drugs were unavailable, but now a specific drug had been developed that might partially alleviate the symptoms. To test it, however, the subject must be in a position to describe his symptoms. Noren found them indescribable.
At the onset he had merely a fierce headache and shooting pains throughout his body, which he decided he could tolerate. Not till he tried to sit up on waking did it occur to him to be frightened—he felt sure his spine had fractured. The next thing he knew, he was lying flat, immobile, and the room seemed darker. He realized that he must have passed out.
“How’s the headache?” the doctor asked.
“Worse.” The point was to provide data, not to display stoicism. With effort, Noren managed to whisper, “I don’t think your drug works very well.”
“It hasn’t had a chance; it’s designed to treat the disease, not ward it off. I’ll give you the first injection now. By tomorrow night you should start feeling some improvement.” Encouragingly, he added, “If you’re wondering whether this experiment’s worth doing, remember that an untreated villager feels no improvement for at least a week.”
He could not move his head without pain so intense he feared he’d cry out with it. He couldn’t move his limbs or torso either, and in fact was cautioned that to do so would be “overexertion” at this stage. He lay motionless, dreading every muscular twitch, for three full days. After that, he was asked to try lifting his head slightly, or an arm or leg, to judge whether it was getting easier. “Easier” wasn’t exactly the word, but it became possible. “The real benefits are in the convalescent phase,” the doctor told him. “Without treatment a victim of purple fever is bedridden for six weeks or more and may never regain full use of the muscles if they’re taxed too soon. But you’re recovering nicely. Before long you’ll be moving around the lab.” Noren wasn’t in shape to believe this confirmation of what he’d counted on.
The fifth morning, Lianne appeared instead of the doctor. “I’m glad to see you haven’t turned purple, anyway,” she said. From her smile he could not quite tell if she was joking.
“Didn’t you ever hear about purple fever in your village?” he asked her. “It’s the
plant
that’s purple, the plant with the spores that cause it.”
“My mother must have forgotten to warn me.”
“I guess she didn’t warn you that it’s contagious, either. I thought they weren’t going to let anyone in here.”
“I’m a medical student, remember? Stefred won’t require me to be a full-fledged physician as Six Worlds psychiatrists were; he isn’t one himself, because his work’s with healthy people instead of mental patients. But we do have to know the basics.” She stood calmly at the edge of the cot, looking down at him with emotion he couldn’t define. “You can sit up now, but don’t make any rapid movements. I’ll help.”
“Seriously, Lianne, you could catch this—”
“If I do, there’s a proven treatment—but I’m not going to. Lift yourself slowly and don’t turn your head. The motion’s going to hurt, but you need to begin getting used to it.”
He started to speak, but as he raised his back the pain knocked the breath out of him. Lianne laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. Gradually his fear ebbed, leaving a purely physical agony that didn’t seem to bother him as much as its severity warranted. Noren’s spirits rose. Maybe the plan was going to work after all. For a while, he’d wondered whether he might have overestimated his own stamina.