The Highest Frontier (33 page)

“Yes, they would.” Probably they’d agree more than most of her Somers neighbors. Housing—Rosa had gunned through Congress sweeping legislation on housing reform. After that she’d lost the Somers vote.

“Is this the speech you’re delivering at the convention?”

“No, of course that will be … different.” The “Mutant speech.” She had read the inane script the handlers gave her, for Monday at four in the afternoon with the “family and friends.” Anna was keen to plant her roots in the Ramos Kennedy clan. But there was no way Jenny could do it except to read woodenly into the prompt.

She focused on the professor. “If Aristotle thinks democracy is tyranny, then what sort of state does he want?”

“I think you know by now, Jenny. The same thing we all want: A polity governed by the able few. The few with college degrees,” he emphasized.

“But everyone votes.”

“Based on what we tell them.”

Jenny knew better now than to rise to the bait. “They’ll throw us out if we forget the price of socks.” Milk, eggs, a subway ticket; she maintained the list, updated monthly. Her gaze caught the Whitcomb degree on the wall. “What is ‘baraminology’?”

His eyes lit up. “Baramins are the created kinds of life. I so miss discussing life science. Frontera’s busy researchers have little use for me, I’m afraid.” His plaintive tone made it hard not to sympathize.

“What are ‘created kinds’?”

“The kinds of life made at Creation, and saved from the Flood. A topic that interests you; as a candidate for mayor, I heartily approve your public demonstration.”

The flood, the next day, Saturday—she had to find Ken this afternoon. Had he lined up the band, and got the moat under control? The last thing they needed was a genuine disaster. “So,” she asked, “would ‘birds’ be a baramin?”

“Birds are created kinds. All the birds together form a baramin. Except for penguins, according to Marsh and Wise. Penguins were a separate created kind. But they all migrated straight to the Ark, just in time. No wonder so many animals migrate today. Did you ever wonder why birds migrate thousands of miles—to find exactly the same tree? How did that ability ‘evolve,’ can you tell me?”

“And dinosaurs, are they part of the bird baramin?”

“Dinosaurs constitute a cryptobaramin. A cryptobaramin is a baramin that is hidden from common view; that is, unseen since the Flood by all but a very few people. But what’s really exciting is what became of the baramins right after they left the Ark. Of course, each original baramin had to diversify within a few hundred years, to make all the varieties of life we know today. Can you imagine living in the time of Abraham, and seeing all the new species appear around you? A hundred per week, according to Wise.”

It didn’t sound like any Bible she’d read. She toysearched “baramin.” The word was there in Genesis, in an unfamiliar translation. “So … you went from baraminology to politics?”

“Like Aristotle,” he agreed. “From sponge to man, the political animal. Jenny, who do you think will be the Unity running mate?”

The abrupt turn took her by surprise. “I’ve no idea. Only Anna knows.”

Hamilton nodded as if he had little doubt. Jenny had little doubt either, and was less than thrilled about it. “What about Centrists? Will Gar pick the Creep again?”

He leaned forward confidentially. “Someone new,” he assured her as if imparting a privileged secret. “A very serious candidate; someone you’ll be pleased to hear. Some of your family will be at our convention,” he reminded her.

*   *   *

At lunch, the dining hall announced salt restriction. Everything tasted the same. To her relief, most of the windows had reappeared in her toybox, even Levi-Montalcini’s tumor mouse. In a far corner of her box, a window blinked; Anna Carrillo. Rising from the table, Jenny stumbled over the long bench and got away to the side of the room.

“Jenny.” Governor Anna Carrillo filled her toybox. “I want you to know, Jenny, how much Glynnis and I appreciate all your family’s support.”

Jenny swallowed and blinked for a neutral background behind her. She tried to ignore the food fight going on nearby, about all the desalted food was worth. “You’re welcome,” she told the governor. “Glynnis did a good job.” The first lady debate seemed years ago.

“And thanks so much for planning a speech for me. It means so much to me, that you’re presenting your first speech in public for my nomination.”

“De nada.”
First and last, Jenny figured.

“And you’ll be one of the first to know when I announce my selection for running mate. I know you’ll be pleased.”

Jenny made herself smile.

“You can be sure I’ll pick someone to lead the fight for conservation. Someone who can hold his own against any debater, even the current vice president.”

Jenny swallowed. “Gar won’t pick the Creep,” she blurted. “He’ll pick a serious new candidate.”

Anna’s face froze at this unexpected departure from script.

“And another thing; about ultra—the kind that crawled out of Great Salt Lake.” The quasispecies. “We’ve learned some things—”

“Thanks, I’ll have staff follow up. And thanks again, so much.” A thousand more calls to make.

The governor’s window had barely closed, when another opened: her mother. “Jenny? Goodness,
hijita,
what’s got into you?” Even at Lake Taupo, she’d heard. She wore her investment power suit, a sign of her outrage. “Drugs—the second week of school?”

“Not me. It was that
compañera
you made me take.”

“The one from the lost island? She did look fishy.” Her mother considered this. “Your whole residence wiped out by Homeworld Security—we saw it all. Imagine how your father feels. And right before the convention.”

“That speech—I told you, I said
no
.”

“We all have to help. The polls are so close.” Soledad peered at her closely. “You’re absolutely certain you had nothing to do with that drug bust?”

“Nada.”
Jenny looked away.

Soledad shook her head. “If you can’t tell me what’s going on,
hijita,
you must tell Marilyn.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Jenny’s heart pounded just thinking of her Monroe.

“Then you’ll have to come home. How can I leave you there, already into drugs?”

“I told you, there’s
nada
with drugs.”

“Well, whatever it is, you have to tell someone.”

Jenny thought it over. “I’ll tell Father Clare.”

“
Bien.
Clare will set you straight.” Soledad paused in thought. “If nothing more comes out, the news cycle will get over it in twenty-four hours. But please—think of your studies. Think of Rosa. Think what you can do for the world.”

In her toybox flashed the EMS snake: A colonial father of four had just collapsed in his home. For once Jenny felt relieved to respond, a situation where she knew just what to do.

*   *   *

The man was splayed out in a chair, head back and mouth open, his wife holding his hand. A child poked an anxious face in, then ran out.

Regarding the stricken man, Jenny made the mental switch from stranger to patient. “Can you please raise both arms?”

No response.

“He complained his right arm was numb,” said his wife, “just before he collapsed.” Donna Matousek, her voice was strong and matter of fact, like Sherri-Lyn’s. Her overalls were much washed, and her arms flexed power bands.

Jenny fixed her scanscope around the patient’s upper arm. The medibot had the stretcher out, and lifted the man smoothly onto it, bracing his head, neck, and spine. Data poured through her windows, columns of proteins and cytokines. A dozen signs already added up to ischemia somewhere, probably the carotid. Age forty-five; he was young for a stroke.

“Send the nanos,”
texted the medibot.

She blinked to release the microscopic bots from the scanscope into the vein. Within minutes the cell-sized probes would find their way to the brain, map the arteries, and start dissolving the blockage. The brain map popped up, pulsing red with signs of arterial plaque filling the arteries. Sure enough, the carotid was blocked. As she watched, the nanoprobes broke through, restoring circulation. A textbook case. Somehow it was hard to believe when the most likely thing actually happened.

The man’s color improved, and his hand moved.

“He’ll be okay,” Jenny said. “He still needs help; we need to check him out at the Barnside.”

“Thank God,” Donna breathed, squeezing his hand. “Gabe, can you hear me yet? We’re here, Gabe, even if you can’t talk.” She turned to Jenny in amazement. “You’re a real doctor.”

Jenny half smiled. “Maybe someday.”

“The Barnside needs more doctors.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me the truth: Does the Barnside have what he needs to make him well?”

Jenny considered this. “Our team is good at emergencies.” When they weren’t overwhelmed, they could do as well as Somers. “We got here in time to prevent permanent damage. Beyond that, though, the Barnside’s limited. I see extensive plaque in there, too much for these first-responder nanos to clear it all. I’d send him down to a good clinic.”

Donna shook her head. “Still saving up for our first flight home. Besides, the lift isn’t recommended for stroke victims, is it?”

“You’re right, it’s not,” agreed Jenny, embarrassed.

“Stroke is common enough. Why can’t Doc Uddin treat it here?”

Jenny shrugged. “Ask your mayor. Your new one, that is, once he’s elected. He can apply for a full clinic; your town meets the specs.” Rural Community Health—Rosa had pushed that through, her first year as president. The government would fund the docs; and the local casino would add a point to the house edge.

*   *   *

She found Kendall at Castle Cockaigne, working on the drawbridge; the winch was stuck. A couple of bots like dwarves from Middle Earth stood by to help. The dwarves didn’t seem much into maintenance, although they ran the daily operation. Inside the ring of the moat stood the crenellated outer walls with four drum towers. Within the outer walls rose the keep; three floors, plus a high lookout where you could walk. Jenny wondered what it was like up there. She wondered how much of a fortune the Kearns-Clarks spent to run all this stuff.

“Is the moat working?” she asked Ken. The water was normally about six feet, but it looked higher than usual, nearly running over the top of the moat’s inner wall.

“Sure thing.” Ken tossed his long Inuit hair back over his shoulder, so different than at zero g where the strands beneath the slancap flew out all around. “Just plug the outflow, and let it run over. I’ve raised the water level, so it’ll just need a nudge to go over.”

“How deep will it fill the castle?” Between the moat and the castle stretched a parterre garden of sculpted shrubs; it seemed a shame to drown it. She was starting to regret this plan.

His arm pointed. “No deeper than the height of the inner wall,
verdad
? Maybe three feet. Chill out; it can’t go wrong.”

“Don’t you have lots of good stuff inside the castle?”

“The keep is mostly printout. But you’re right, we have to go through the ground floor, picking up any nonprintout to haul upstairs. And of course what’s below, the whole wine cellar. Haven’t got to that yet; you can help me in the morning.”

Saturday morning was Homefair, with Tom and Father Clare. She’d have to leave early. “What about the band?”

“The finest George Lewis tribute band—
¡Oye!
what a racehorse tempo. You got the flyer out?” The flyer read,
Tour the Authentic Medieval Castle. Jazz Age Entertainment. Live Flood Demonstration.

Jenny nodded. “All the student windows, and all the public ones. Even the First Firmament Church.” Leora had posted that one.

“Before I forget,” added Ken, “Yola leads a required optional practice tomorrow morning. We always do, before the Sunday game.”

“Saturday morning? I didn’t see it in her window—”

“Word of mouth. No coach allowed; it has to be ‘optional,’ college rules, but you gotta be there. Especially you,” he emphasized, after her missed practice that week.

*   *   *

Jenny reached Father Clare’s office just before supper. She picked a piece for the jigsaw collage, a bit of daisy with two knobs that more or less fit within a yellow section. Some parts buckled, but overall it was surprising how ingeniously the pieces from different puzzles had been made to fit.

“A good one, thanks,” said the chaplain. “I was wondering how that mass might fill in.” Behind him, the Virgin sat eternally with her fallen Son, her left hand outstretched. “I’m sorry you’ve had a rough week. Any way I can help? You have a good place to sleep?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said quickly. “They promised to reprint my cottage by tomorrow.” At a new site, away from the substratum leak.

“So how do things look for tomorrow? Can we expect a good flood?”

Jenny shrugged. “The tour at least will draw people. The castle’s a major landmark even from Mount Gilead.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry to miss Homefair.”

“I understand; of course, you need to set up your event.”

“There’s that, and there’s slanball. And also…” The EMS took time, and all her homework was behind. And her Life grade was only an A. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I managed twice as much in high school.”

“This isn’t Somers High. This is college.” Father Clare tapped his forehead. “A new level. New competition.”

“You think I should quit slanball.”

“Not at all. Slanball is, like dance, a form of art you create for the rest of us.”

She hadn’t thought of it quite that way. “Well, thanks. Look, I was never great with a hammer anyway. But I’ll keep your window in my box, and if Homefair ever needs EMS, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, Jenny. You know, that’s the biggest help we need.” His head tilted. “Anything else? How’s your family?”

“They’re fine. They’re in Lake Taupo, where nobody can reach them.” She paused and swallowed. She had promised her mother to tell the chaplain, but tell him what? About Mary? Her gaze caught the hand of Michaelangelo’s Mary before her, the marble fingers curled forever, suspended outstretched in empty space.