The Jesus Incident by Frank Herbert
“Oh, this is Sy Murdoch,” the medic said. “He came up to ask some questions of the TaoLini woman. You sent her down to P-T, didn’t you?”
Hali stood up, recalling the grapevine stories about Murdoch: Kelp and clones. Lab One director. One of Lewis’ people.
“Why would you want to move him?” she asked.
“I understand from the medics that Raul Andrit has been taken to sickbay with a similar seizure. It occurred to me that . . .”
“You say Raul Andrit with a certain familiarity,” she said. “You’re wearing groundside. What do you know about . . .”
“Now, see here! I don’t have to answer your . . .”
“You’ll answer me or a medical board. This could be a disease brought up from groundside. What’s your association with Raul Andrit?”
His face went blank, completely unreadable, then: “I know his father.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. I’ve never seen the child before. I just . . . knew he was here, shipside.”
Hali, trained from childhood to be a med-tech, to support life and see that Shipmen survived, knew each bodily muscle, nerve, gland and blood vessel by name and often spoke to them quietly as she worked. Instinctively, she knew that Murdoch was trained otherwise. He repelled her. And he was lying.
“What’s your business with Waela TaoLini?”
“That concerns the Ceepee, not you.”
“Waela TaoLini has been put in my charge by the Natali. That’s Ship’s business. Anything concerning her concerns me.”
“It’s just routine,” Murdoch said.
Every mannerism said it was not just routine, but before she could respond, she saw Waela walk into the play area.
While she was still at some distance, Waela called: “They said somebody here was looking for me. Do you . . .”
“Stay back there!” Hali called. “We’ve some sick boys and we don’t want them near any expectant mothers. Wait for me over in the Natali Section. I’ll join you in . . .”
“Forget it!” That was Murdoch speaking with a new forcefulness. He gave every indication of someone who had come to an important decision. “We’ll meet with Ferry in Medical. Immediately.”
Hali protested: “With Ferry? He doesn’t . . .”
“Oakes left him in charge shipside. That should be good enough for you.” He turned on his heel and strode from the area.
Chapter 54
Myths are not fiction, but history seen with a poet’s eyes and recounted in a poet’s terms.
—Shipquotes
FERRY SAT at his command couch sipping a pale liquid which reeked of mint. He had been reviewing biostats on a shielded viewscreen when Hali and Waela entered and he did not lower the shields.
The command cubby, which had been tacked onto the Processing complex after Oakes’ departure, was brightly illuminated by corner remotes which filled the room with yellow light. There was a sharp smell of caustic cleaner in the air.
Hali noted two things immediately: Ferry was not yet overcome by the drink and he appeared fearful. Then she saw that the command center had been tidied recently. Anywhere Ferry worked was soon a scattered mess—a notorious situation shipside where instincts of neatness equated with survival. But things had been made neat here. Unusual.
She saw Murdoch then and realized that Ferry feared what Murdoch might report to Oakes. Murdoch stood at one side of the command center, arms folded, impassive.
Ferry closed down his screen with a conscious flourish, swiveled to face the newcomers.
“Thank you for coming along so quickly.”
Ferry’s voice was reedy with controlled emotions. He stroked the bridge of his nose once, an unconscious imitation of Oakes.
Waela noted that his fingers were trembling.
What does he fear? she wondered.
The man’s furtiveness spoke of terrified concealments.
Is it something to do with my baby?
The characteristic blip of her own fears lifted and fell. And there was Kerro’s voice: “Trust Hali and Ship, Waela. Trust them.”
Waela tried to swallow in a dry throat. Could no one else hear him? She shot a furtive glance around the room. When she heard the voice, she felt sure of it. The instant it was gone, she doubted. Her real-time perceptions were demanding full attention, though. Physical senses honed to high sensitivity by the necessities of survival on Pandora—these she trusted. And Ferry demanded her attention. The man was a menace, operating on several levels of deception. She had heard the stories about Ferry, a competent-enough medical man with a few eccentricities, but not to be trusted alone with a young woman.
Her eyes told her something else.
A humbler, Waela told herself, who sits in the command seat. Interesting. Why did Oakes choose a humbler?
Waela’s Pandora-sensitized nostrils detected alcohol in Ferry’s drink. She put on her best impassive mask to conceal the recognition. The groundside uses of alcohol and tetrahydracannabinol in their various forms were generally accepted in Colony. But somehow she had not expected this shipside. With Ship to protect them . . . well, Shipmen had long held that alcohol was a risky and undesirable poison shipside. But then again, she knew that Ferry, like herself, had spent his early years Earthside. His reversion might not be all that unusual.
Still, Ferry’s actions interested her. If the fact of her impregnation outside Ship’s regular breeding program were taken seriously in certain circles . . . Well, why else would Ferry be using viewscreen shields? And alcohol! She did not want her life, nor her baby’s life, depending on someone who deliberately lowered his acuities.
Drinking, she thought. The word was dredged up out of her childhood and she had a bottomless-pit feeling about the hyb-plus-waking time which had passed since she had equated that word with alcohol.
The shielded screen bothered her. It was time someone invaded Ferry’s privacy, she thought.
“That drink smells like fresh mint. Could I taste it?”
“Yes . . . of course,”
It was not of course, but he offered her the glass. “Just a taste. It’s not the kind of thing a prospective mother should have.”
The glass was cold against her fingers. She sipped the drink and closed her eyes, recalling a scorched afternoon in Earthside summer when her mother had let her have a diluted mint julep with the grownups. The color of this drink was paler, but it was definitely bourbon with mint. She opened her eyes and saw Ferry’s gaze fixed on the glass.
Hungry for it, she saw. He’s nearly drooling.
“It’s quite good,” she said. “Where did you get it?”
He reached for the glass, but Waela handed it to Hali, who hesitated and looked at Ferry, then at Waela.
“Go ahead,” Waela said. “Everyone should have one sometime. I had my first when I was twelve.”
When Hali still hesitated, Ferry said, “Perhaps she shouldn’t, what with this strange illness going around. What if it’s catching?”
He treats it like a precious jewel, Waela thought. It must be hard to get.
She said: “If it’s that contagious, we’ve caught it. Go ahead, Hali.”
The younger woman sipped, swallowed and immediately bent her head in a fit of coughing, the glass thrust out for someone to take it.
Ferry grabbed it from her hand.
Eyes watering, Hali said: “That’s terrible!”
“It’s all in knowing what to expect,” Ferry said.
“And lots of practice,” Waela said. “You never told us where you got it. Not one of our lab alcohols, is it?”
Ferry placed the glass carefully on the deck beside his seat.
“It’s from Pandora.”
“Must be hard to get.”
“Don’t we have more important things to discuss?” Murdoch asked.
They were his first words, and they transfixed Ferry. He reached down for the drink, drew his hand back without it. He turned and fussed with the controls for his screen
Waela promised herself that she would use the first opportunity to call up the records Ferry found so interesting. With unrestricted use of Ship’s research facilities, it would not be difficult.
Murdoch moved around behind Ferry, an action which increased Ferry’s nervousness.
Waela found herself sympathizing with the old man. Murdoch in that position would make anyone’s shoulder blades twitch.
Ferry sputtered, then: “I was . . . ahh, waiting for some, ahhh, others to come up before, ahhh, taking up the, ahh, business we . . . I mean . . .”
“What are we doing here?” Hali asked. She did not like the undercurrents flowing through this room. Unspoken threats lay heavy on Ferry’s shoulders and it was obvious they came from Murdoch.
Ferry reached for the drink with a convulsive motion, but before he could put it to his lips, Murdoch reached over Ferry’s shoulder and removed the glass from his hand.
“This’ll wait.”
Murdoch put the glass on a ledge behind him. As he turned back toward the others, the hatch opened and three people entered.
Hali recognized Brulagi from Medical, a heavy-set woman with fat arms and a thick lower lip. She wore her auburn hair in the regular close-cropped style, and her eyes shone bright blue above a flat nose. Right behind her came Andrit from Behavioral, a large dark man with quick almond eyes of deep brown and a nervous, darting manner. Behind these two was Usija, gray-haired, a thin-lipped, soft-spoken woman from the Natali, who had assigned Hali to monitor Waela TaoLini.
“Ahhh, here you are,” Ferry said. “Please be seated, everyone. Please be seated.”
Hali was glad to sit. She found a sling chair for Waela and another for herself. Waela moved her own chair to seat herself directly across from Ferry. It put her apart from the others, an observer’s distance, and let her focus on Ferry and Murdoch without having to turn. Ferry would notice and it would annoy him, she thought. He wanted attention, not investigation.
What is it with you, old man? Waela wondered. What do you fear?
The three latecomers perched on a couch at right angles to Ferry. Murdoch remained standing.
Hali, noting Waela’s move, wondered about it, but was distracted by the sudden realization that Andrit from Behavioral must be the father of young Raul. What was going on here?
Murdoch touched Ferry’s shoulder and the older man jumped. “Show them the map.”
Ferry swallowed, turned to his keyboard, punched at it clumsily. A miniature projection of Ship’s schematic materialized at the holofocus beside him.
Hali recognized the special Natali area outship from Behavioral and noted a number of red dots through the projection. Brulagi from Medical leaned forward with her thick arms on her legs and stared at the three-dimensional map. Andrit appeared agitated by it. Usija merely nodded.
“What are the red markers?” Hali asked.
“Each dot represents a stricken child,” Ferry said. “If you connect them, they form a spiral and you’ll note that they increase in density as they reach the spiral’s center.”
“A vortex,” Murdoch said.
Waela peered closely at the schematic. She caught her breath and glanced up to catch a look of unguarded fury on Andrit’s face. He was clenching and unclenching his fists. She saw the heavy muscles of his forearms knotting under his singlesuit.
Ferry pulled some papers from the ledge beside his keyboard and shuffled through them while he spoke: “For the sake of those who might not know, ahh, where is your cubby, Waela?”
Andrit leaned forward, almost falling from the couch as he glared at Waela. She saw Murdoch repress a smile. What amused him?
“You all know where I sleep, Doctor. My cubby’s at the center of the spiral.”
Andrit lunged as quickly as anyone Waela had ever seen shipside. But even though she felt heavily pregnant, Pandora had conditioned her reflexes to blurring speed. When Andrit hit the space where Waela had been sitting, she no longer was there. Before he could recover, Waela felled him with a blow to his carotid—every move automatic.
She felt strength flowing through her. It gushed from the fetus within her and out through every fiber of her body.
Hali, out of her chair by this time, looked from Andrit sprawled unconscious on the deck to Waela who stood poised and breathing easily in front of them. The sudden exertion had fanned the reddish glow under her skin to a blaze. As she turned slowly on one heel to see if there would be more attack, she was an awesome sight.
Dazed, Hali asked: “Why did he do that?”
Waela confronted Ferry. “Why?” She stood balanced on the balls of her feet. Andrit had threatened not her but her unborn child! Let any of them try to harm her child!
Murdoch chose to answer, an odd glint in his eyes. He appeared to be enjoying this.
“He was . . . personally upset, you understand? One of the stricken children is his son.”
“What do those red dots really mean?” Hali demanded.
“Ahh, there have been some energy problems, we believe,” Murdoch said. “We saw a similar thing in Lab One.”
Waela took a step toward Ferry. “I want to hear it from you. Oakes left you in charge here. What’s going on?”
“I, uhh, don’t really know much about it.” Ferry licked his lips, shot a glance over his shoulder at Murdoch.
“You mean you’re not supposed to know anything about it,” Waela said. “Tell us what you do know.”
“Now, let’s change our tone a bit,” Murdoch said. “There’s an injured man on the deck and this whole unfortunate matter does not require more passion.”
He turned toward the Natali representative. “Doctor Usija, since the med-tech appears unable to respond . . .”
Hali looked down at Andrit who was beginning to stir.
“He’ll recover,” Waela said. “I pulled my blow.”
Hali stared at her. The implication was obvious: She could have killed the man. Belatedly, Hali bent to examine him. Her pribox showed a bruise on his neck, some nerve damage, but Waela was right: He would recover.
“What happened in Lab One?” Waela directed her question to Murdoch.
“An . . . artificial form of this phenomenon. You are the first natural example of this we’ve seen.”
“Natural example of what?” Waela forced the words out.
“The draining of energy from . . . other people.”
Waela glared at him. What was he saying? She took a step toward him and felt Hali’s hand on her arm. Waela whirled on the med-tech and almost brought her down. Sensing this, Hali jerked her hand back.
“Waela? Just a moment. I’m beginning to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“They think you’re responsible for the sick children.”
“Me? How?” She turned back toward Ferry. “Explain.”
Murdoch started to speak, but she snapped an angry glare at him. “Not you! Him.”
“Now, Waela, calm yourself,” Ferry said. “This has all been an unfortunate mistake.”
“What do you mean unfortunate mistake, you drunk? You set this up. You invited Andrit here. You knew about that spiral in your schematic. What were you trying to do?”
“I will not take that tone from you,” Ferry said. “This is my . . .”
“This is your funeral if you don’t tell me what’s going on here!”
Hali stared at Waela. What was happening to the woman? Murdoch, Hali noted, was standing very still—no threatening movements at all. Usija and Brulagi were frozen in their seats.
“Now, don’t you threaten me, Waela,” Ferry said. There was a plaintive note in his voice.
She’s perfectly capable of killing him if he doesn’t satisfy her demand, Hali thought. Ship, save us! What has come over her?
Usija began to speak very softly, but her voice was compelling in the tense air of the room.
“Doctor Ferry, you are looking at the phenomenon of t
Ferry pushed himself back in his seat as far as he could go. He wet his lips with his tongue.
“I, ahhh . . . your circumstances shipside, Waela. There has been some, ahhh, let us call it superstition.”
“About what?”
“About, ahhh, you. We have tested you since your return and . . . ahhh, we do not find usable answers. Even Ship is no help. Whatever it is, Ship has locked it away—Restricted. Or . . .” He shot a venomous glance at Hali. “. . . we are referred to Med-tech Hali Ekel.”
Hali could not repress a gasp.
Waela whirled and glared at her.
Hali realized suddenly that now she was a target.
“Waela, I swear to you that I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m here to protect you and your baby, not to hurt you.”
Waela gave a curt nod, returned her attention to Ferry.
Andrit groaned and pushed himself upright. Waela bent and, with one hand, hoisted him to his feet. In the same motion, she hurled him toward the couch where he narrowly missed Brulagi and Usija. The effortless way Waela did this made Hali hold her breath, then exhale slowly. Very dangerous, indeed.
“Tell us the circumstances where Ship refers you to Hali Ekel,” Waela said. Her voice was like a bubbling volcano.
Andrit leaned forward abruptly and vomited, but no one looked.
“When we asked if it was the child causing this or if it was you,” Ferry said.
Hali gasped, her vision suddenly blurred by memory of a dusty hillside, the setting of a blazing yellow sun, and three figures tortured on crosses. What kind of a child was Waela carrying?
Waela spoke without turning. “Hali, does that mean anything to you?”
“How was your child conceived?” Hali asked.
Waela turned a startled look toward her. “Kerro and I . . . for Ship’s sake, you know how babies are made! Do you think we carry axolotl tanks on those subs?”
Hali looked at the deck. The legend said immaculate conception—no man involved. A god . . . But it was only a legend, a myth. Why would Ship refer the questioners to her? Many times since that trip through time, Hali had asked herself, Why? What was I supposed to learn? Ship spoke of holy violence. The accounts concerning the Hill of Skulls which she had scanned since the experience certainly confirmed this. Holy violence and Waela’s child?