New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!
It has been two days since I dispatched Response Team One to violate the Exclusion Zone around the Terris System.
Dr. Verena Urle has communicated with me very sparely since my action. I know that she is no longer capable of feeling hurt or insult, and so she must instead simply be unsure of my judgment or unable to trust me.
I regret that, but I still believe it was a necessary move.
Michal Denso’s condition has remained mostly the same; his mass has continued to increase, but at a slow rate.
I have attempted to speak to Ambassador Kell regarding the situation, but the being has refused to respond to any message I send nor open its door. I am hesitant to press my luck with him again on this matter.
There is nothing I can do but wait.
The time has not been unproductive, however. We’ve gotten many of the cloning vats we confiscated from New Vitriol transferred to the care of the doctors on MS-29. Thus far, their prognosis for the clones has been better than we hoped, and they now estimate that as many as 60% will survive.
It will not be long before the oldest of them comes into this world.
As well, we have been welcoming aboard the thousands of people from the Medical Station who will be leaving with us.
The ship is beginning to feel crowded.
The last of the crawlers went through the door, and Sulp let out a relaxed sigh. “That’s it,” he said, grinning. “Once that line gets off the ship, we’ll be done with this whole mess.”
“I will be very pleased once the last of them are receiving proper care,” Dr. Y replied. “Your description of it being a mess is due to the spillage and biological waste, I presume?”
Sulp grunted. “Just don’t like them being on the ship. No fault of theirs, but all the same.” He turned and marched away, towards his office.
Dr. Y waited patiently, running simulations on various meanings of the man’s words based on his knowledge of the man.
Spacerfolk like his – who lived in the void in caravan fleets and never called a star their home – were often considered quite callous by outsiders. But he knew from a great number of sociological studies that these hardnesses, and especially their manner of speech that seemed to place lives in low value were only coping mechanisms in their culture for the elevated mortality rates.
Humans often needed to devalue the dead to cope with the numbers lost. An unfortunate thing, but psychologically understandable.
Still, perhaps the man simply was uncaring. He was known for being incredibly rude to many, at least by normal standards of behaviour, and-
“Doc,” Sulp said, shoving a small box at him. “Make sure Dr. Urle gets these. Or whoever’s in charge of the vat kids.”
Y took the box. They were slips of paper with common spacer names on them.
“What is the provence of these?” he asked.
“They’d been stuck to a lot of the tanks,” Sulp explained, taking out a cigar from his pocket and putting it in his mouth.
“Commander, to inhale smoke fumes is supremely unhealthy. While I can replace damaged lungs, I’d much prefer not to have to-“
“Just the once, doc. I need it.” Sulp’s voice was softer than normal.
Full of emotion, Y thought. Yes, his simulations agreed; the man was weighed down with feelings.
Dr. Y analyzed that; not in terms of quantifying it, but taking it as true and extrapolating from there.
Cloning was a very deep taboo among spacers; though sometimes desirable, it rarely went well. He scanned over the report Pirra had given to Cenz and hence been shared to his department, regarding Sulp’s comments about it.
“So these are the names of the clones,” Y said, looking into the box. There were two-hundred and forty-seven slips.
“Yep,” Sulp replied.
Taking one in his hand, Y looked over the text. The name Gres was written sloppily on the paper. It was crinkled in spots that made it seem to have gotten wet. He analyzed the surface; was it spilled nutrient fluids? If so it was likely crawling with bacteria . . .
But no. There was a higher salinity than expected. Mostly water traces with lipids and proteins-
Ah, yes. He understood.
Below the names, he saw, in neater writing, a tube number. It was Sulp’s handwriting.
“I will make sure that these get to the clones they came from,” Dr. Y said.
“You do that, doc. I’ll be grateful. I bet Lieutenant Pirra will be, too.”
Dr. Y looked to the pile again. The odds on these clones surviving had risen. But 40% of them would still likely go unused, if they were distributed evenly.
He hated that, he realized. Rarely in his existence had he found he hated anything, not even biological beings who feared and distrusted AIs.
But he hated it when he could not save a life.
“It is unfortunate Pirra is not here to say goodbye,” he commented.
“Better she isn’t,” Sulp growled, turning and walking away.
Standing a moment and sifting the names, committing them all to memory, Dr. Y then turned and left the empty room as well.
You must be logged in to post a comment.