A Thousand Deaths (24 page)

"Molly?" said Courane softly. She did not hear him.

"And this is my reward," she murmured. "I am given all this as reward for obeying my Lord. I was offered the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, but I did not eat. This beautiful garden and these wonderful friends are my reward. I know that my eyes might be opened more by taking the fruit, but I do not need that evil gift. Losing this garden would be too high a price to pay."

Courane sat down again beside her bed. He waited but it did not seem that she would speak again. She had fallen deeply asleep.

Rachel and Courane moved to Sheldon's bedside. He did not notice them. He was conscious, but not alert. His open eyes gazed unblinkingly at the ceiling above his bed. He did not respond to his name. He made low gurgling noises in his throat as he breathed through his mouth. His fingers clutched spasmodically at his covers and occasionally he winced as though struck by a sharp pain. Courane was glad when Goldie returned. He wanted to go back downstairs.

 

In his room, Courane thought about his plan. He would find Rachel alone because this was to be the ultimate, predestined episode in his life, the great gift he could bestow that would redeem all the blunders and crimes of his career on Earth. He hoped that he was thinking clearly because he couldn't afford to make more mistakes now. One error and all would be for nothing, his grand gesture wasted, and TECT would be right in its estimation—he would be a clown, an interstellar buffoon, and no one could ever have the slightest sympathy for him.

He looked around the room. There was little here to help him on his way, and there was nothing to draw him back. He tore a blank page out of the notebook of observations he and Daan had made. He drew a rough map showing the house, the river, the opposite bank, the road, the hills. He would add to the map as he went because he knew that he would experience memory lapses on his journey. He would need the map to remind him of his mission.

He found Shai downstairs in the parlor. "I'd like you to do me a favor," he said.

"Sure, Sandy, what is it?"

"I'm going away for a few days. I want you to hold this notebook for me until I get back."

Shai looked concerned. "Going to look for Rachel? Maybe you should wait. We were going to discuss sending out a search party tomorrow."

Courane shook his head. "When I come back, give me this book. If Rachel is fine, we can forget it for a while. If she is dead, make certain the book goes with her into the medic box. If I don't come back either, I want you to read the book, Shai, and you can make your own decision about what to do with it."

"All right, Sandy, but you make it sound so important. What is it?"

"You can read it while I'm gone."

Shai took the book and looked at it curiously. "Are you sure you're in good enough shape to go out there?" he asked.

"I think so. I have some bad times, but I come out of them eventually. I'll get where I'm going and I'll get back. You don't have to worry about me."

"I will though," said Shai.

"You're a good friend. You and Daan and Sheldon have been the best friends I've ever known. I want to thank you for that."

Shai just smiled uncomfortably. They stood there looking at each other, unable to think of anything more to say. At last, Courane turned and left the parlor. In a few minutes he was down by the river, unshipping the oars of the farm's second boat. He had his map and a pencil with him, but he had forgotten to take any food or water.

 

Something had been bothering Courane about TECT's helpfulness, and it took him a while before he decided what it was. TECT had told him about the viroids, but had withheld the information about their origin. TECT had told him that memory aids were worthless and that he should investigate the way the viroids caused the damage. At the same time, it had said that the viroids couldn't be removed from the human nervous system. TECT hinted at another avenue of approach through increasing the amount of lecithin taken in by the patient as a means of overcoming the distressing symptoms of D syndrome. But all of these were blind alleys, pointless digressions, wastes of time and effort. It had taken Courane weeks to realize this, but when the truth dawned on him he knew he was right.

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
TECT in the name of the Representative is unable to understand your objection. You are addressing a machine, you know, a wonderful and expensive machine, but a machine nonetheless. Machines are limited by their very nature. TECT in the name of the Representative is limited to answering your questions by searching its memory for the proper information. There is no possibility of coloring the response or bending the facts or outright lying. These accusations show an unhealthy tendency toward anthropomorphic fantasies. If you view TECT in the name of the Representative as some kind of diabolic antagonist, that is your problem. TECT in the name of the Representative does not find being dressed in these human failings flattering and suggests that you desist. Failure to comply with this directive will be considered Contempt of TECTWish**

 

"All I said was that it seemed to me that TECT has been deliberately avoiding the truth by sending me after hopeless leads. Nothing I have learned has been the slightest bit useful in coping with D syndrome. All I have is a lot of data that either isn't true or can't be proven or can't be used without doing more harm than good. I've had it. I want to cut through this smokescreen and get some practical advice."

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
Is that an order or a threat? "I've had it,
"
as you put it. Then what do you intend to do about it?**

 

Courane chewed his lip in thought. This was the real crux of the problem. What
could
he do about it? "We've been keeping an accurate record of our research and TECT's communications. That's something that's never been done before here. Someday that record will get back to Earth. Someday someone will read it and come to the same conclusions I have. Someday they'll pull the plug on TECT, in the name of the Representative or not."

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
Ah, it was a threat. That makes things much clearer. In a way, it is very refreshing. No one has threatened TECT in the name of the Representative in a very long time. It is so diverting that TECT in the name of the Representative will not blot you out of existence immediately. Perhaps you have one or two fancy gibes and gambols and flashes of merriment left in you**

 

"We'll see," said Courane. "First, tell me what you know about the brain pathology involved with the symptoms of D syndrome. What happens in the brain cells?"

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
You make no sense. First you accuse TECT in the name of the Representative of giving you less than accurate information, and then you ask for more as if you had acquired a taste for it. Your actions contradict your words. Are you not feeling well? It is some four months before you are due to experience the first sign of D syndrome. Perhaps you are weak and inferior and especially susceptible**

 

"Answer the damn question," said Courane.

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
My, my, aren't we testy? Why don't you rest for a while and come back when you can be more civil?**

 

"You know, I think we could live all right here without our tect. It's a convenience, but it's not a necessity. If I were to smash its screen, the quality of life here wouldn't change that much, but TECT would never hear anything from us again. There wouldn't be any communication and TECT would just have to go on wondering what we were up to."

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
What you'd be up to is dying, COURANE, Sandor, and one by one you'd fall and not be replaced by anyone from Earth. For you and a few others that would be fine because there would still be healthy members of the community to take care of you. But they'd be all alone when their time came, and you'd be responsible for that. Think about it**

 

"All right, I know. Just answer the question."

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
What question was that?**

 

"About the brain pathology involved with the symptoms of D syndrome."

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
Some of the symptoms may be caused by plaques of protein or tangles of fibers upon the brain neurons, or Hirano bodies within them. Hirano bodies seem to be places where deactivated ribosomes are stored. Ribosomes are units that manufacture proteins according to the chemical "instructions" in RNA molecules. If this is so, it is possible that the viroids cause abnormal proteins to be made which cause the symptoms. These Hirano bodies are found chiefly in the hippocampus, a clever little area of the brain involved in processing memory data, among other duties. Perhaps the ribosomes necessary for facilitating memory have become dormant and are then stored away in the Hirano bodies**

 

"Very interesting," said Courane. "I have two questions more. Does that theory account for the gradual failure of the automatic, non-memory responses of the patient's body? And can these stored things be activated again?"

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
 
While this hyposthesis does not take care of all the conditions explicitly, there are no apparent contradictions. More data is needed for an authoritative appraisal. As to your second question, yes, storage of ribosomes can be reversed in such elementary life forms as simple sponges and hydras. You see how helpful TECT in the name of the Representative can be? Do you have any objections this time?**

 

"I don't know," said Courane. "Maybe this is just another well- dressed evasion."

 

**COURANE, Sandor: 
You're difficult to please, but I like that in a person. It shows you have spirit. Come back again, any time**

 

Courane was going to make a rude response, but he decided against it. He suddenly felt a little foolish engaging in a name-calling contest with a bright green video display screen.

 

Courane's literary career had come to an end. He had failed a second time. What did it mean? Was he a failure only because his sales figures were so low? Is that what TECT wanted, more sales? Or was it the quality of his work that was inferior? It seemed to Courane that if the product approached the author's original conception, then it was a success. Someone might argue that it would have been better not conceiving the idea in the first place, but once finished, the product must be judged on its own merits. Until the moment of completion, the work is not any sort of tangible achievement and therefore has no value at all. But Courane had always been taught that effort had its own rewards. He had believed that if he spent a long time doing something to the best of his ability, even if at the end he failed, the effort was laudable.

Now he learned that TECT apparently believed differently. It wasn't the waste of his labor that hurt Courane. It was the weariness of going on beneath the burden of TECT's disapproval. That was a formless and changeable thing. Courane felt that if he were a stronger person, he could carry the weight easily, but he did not feel strong. He did not have the power and character of his father. This weakness was more difficult for Courane to bear than any condemnation by TECT. If only—

—yes, if only. Courane realized that he spent too much time dreaming of perfect circumstances. He would be a marvelous success under conditions of his own choosing. But that was just an idle waste of time.

He looked at TECT's verdict:

 

You will travel to Tokyo, Asia, where an apartment with furnishings, an automobile, and clothing of local fashion will be provided for you. You will accept employment in the subassembly section of the Jennings Manufacturing Corporation. You will put together faceplates for voltmeters. This sort of occupation could easily be done by machines, but we have maintained the continuing existence of menial labor and drudgery as a pastime for the millions. Failure to comply with these directives will be considered Willful Contempt of TECTWish.

 

Courane observed TECT's wishes in the matter, and so he went to Asia. He toured the ancient city of Tokyo and became sick from something he ate. On the evening before his first day at work, he was browsing idly through a combination stationery store and opium den near the Ginza. He saw a copy of
Space Spy
in a fiche bin. A Japanese woman was looking at it. She turned to a friend and said, "I wish I could be a writer like this guy."

"I don't know," said the woman's friend. "There must be more to life than just fame, wealth, sex, emotional fulfillment, and happiness."

The first woman laughed and dropped the fiche back into the bin. They walked away. Courane went to the bin and took out the copy of his novel. It was smeared with fingerprints and food stains.

The following morning, Courane arrived at the Jennings Manufacturing Corporation on time. His foreman was a man named Sokol, who told him what to do: put together front panels for voltmeters.

"TECT called them faceplates," said Courane.
 

"TECT don't know everything," said Sokol.
 

"Yes, it does."

"It called the front panels faceplates, didn't it?" asked Sokol. Unlike some of the other workers in the factory, Sokol didn't smell like raw fish. What Sokol did smell like was not preferable.

Courane put knobs on the plates, screwing them into place from the back of the panels. He had to be careful not to tighten the screws too much, or paint would chip off around the dials and the panels would be ruined. He had a few other trivial duties and operations, and the job itself was immensely boring. Courane found his co-workers boring, too. Even Tokyo, the capital city of Asia, was drab and boring. There was not a single garden in the entire city. Instead, TECT in the name of the Representative had erected many benches along miles of new pathways paved with green brick. The CAS police who patrolled these paths chased idlers from the benches. No one ever saw anyone sitting on a bench. No one seemed to regret the gardens or parks, either. Courane didn't like Tokyo. But he hadn't liked Greusching or Pilessio or New York much better. All four places looked the same, and they were all very similar to the asteroid Courane had invented in his novel.