passed for normal in this genetics-crazy society.
A receptionist at one of the desks looked up as we approached. {We’re visiting Terese German,} Wandek said.
{Room 22, Usantra Wandek,} the Filly said, and gestured us down a side corridor. Midway along it was an open door with half-audible English mutterings emanating from inside. We reached it and went in.
In the middle of the room was a diagnostic bed similar to the Fibibib models common elsewhere in the galaxy but with some distinctly Filiaelian modifications to its design. Terese was lying on the bed, dressed now in a loose hospital gown, her eyes locked rigidly on the ceiling above her. Three doctors were standing around her, busily hooking up sample-taking equipment, while a blue-clad Filly was seated at an electronic console in one corner. Aronobal was off in a different corner, watching the procedure closely.
Trying to keep out of everyone’s way, Bayta and I slipped around to Aronobal’s corner. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“They have begun the preliminary tests,” Aronobal murmured, her eyes never leaving Terese.
“And then the treatment starts?”
“Once the tests have been evaluated, yes.”
I looked at Terese. She was still gazing at the ceiling, her face stony with nervous determination. “What sorts of tests are you running?” I asked.
“Tests that are none of your freaking business,” Terese bit out before Aronobal could answer. “Can someone throw them out? Please?”
“Hold still,” one of the other doctors said brusquely.
I frowned, taking another look at the activity around Terese. There was a hard edge to it all that I hadn’t noticed before.
I took a step closer to Aronobal. “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.
She looked sideways at me, then nodded silently toward the door. I nudged Bayta, and together the three of us sidled along the edge of the room and escaped out into the corridor, followed by the watchdogs and Wandek. “Well?” I asked as Aronobal led us a few meters farther away.
Aronobal looked at Wandek, as if seeking permission to speak, then turned back to me. “The problem is not with Ms. German,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What I mean is that, although she has many physical problems of her own, our immediate concern is with her child. There appears to be some kind of unexpected stress in his heartbeat and brain-wave pattern.”
I looked at Bayta. Her face looked a little pinched. “How bad is it?” I asked. “Better question: what are they doing about it?”
“They will begin by taking samples of the fetal tissue and of the fluid in the birth sac,” Aronobal said. “Unfortunately, until this is settled we cannot begin work on Ms. German’s own problems.”
“Which are what exactly?” I asked. “I’ve never gotten a straight answer on that.”
Aronobal sighed, a soft whinnying thing. “She has at least four genetic disorders,” she said. “Possibly more—we have not yet done a complete mapping. Any one of the flaws could prove fatal to her over the next thirty years. Together, they are a virtual promise that her life will be cut tragically short.”
“Can you fix her?”
“We believe so,” she said. “But our knowledge of Humans and Human genetic structure is still woefully incomplete. That is indeed one reason she was invited to Proteus Station: to see whether we could map her genetic flaws and correct them.”
“But that’s now on hold?”
“It is the only safe way,” Aronobal said. “The work on Ms. German is extensive and deep, with the potential to put additional stress on the child. Were he healthy it would be a simple matter of screening out the treatment chemicals and monitoring his condition. But until we know what is causing these other anomalies we cannot risk any action that might precipitate his death.”
“And Ms. German cares about that?” I asked. “As I understand it, this child is the product of a vicious attack on her. Yet she still wants
A receptionist at one of the desks looked up as we approached. {We’re visiting Terese German,} Wandek said.
{Room 22, Usantra Wandek,} the Filly said, and gestured us down a side corridor. Midway along it was an open door with half-audible English mutterings emanating from inside. We reached it and went in.
In the middle of the room was a diagnostic bed similar to the Fibibib models common elsewhere in the galaxy but with some distinctly Filiaelian modifications to its design. Terese was lying on the bed, dressed now in a loose hospital gown, her eyes locked rigidly on the ceiling above her. Three doctors were standing around her, busily hooking up sample-taking equipment, while a blue-clad Filly was seated at an electronic console in one corner. Aronobal was off in a different corner, watching the procedure closely.
Trying to keep out of everyone’s way, Bayta and I slipped around to Aronobal’s corner. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“They have begun the preliminary tests,” Aronobal murmured, her eyes never leaving Terese.
“And then the treatment starts?”
“Once the tests have been evaluated, yes.”
I looked at Terese. She was still gazing at the ceiling, her face stony with nervous determination. “What sorts of tests are you running?” I asked.
“Tests that are none of your freaking business,” Terese bit out before Aronobal could answer. “Can someone throw them out? Please?”
“Hold still,” one of the other doctors said brusquely.
I frowned, taking another look at the activity around Terese. There was a hard edge to it all that I hadn’t noticed before.
I took a step closer to Aronobal. “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.
She looked sideways at me, then nodded silently toward the door. I nudged Bayta, and together the three of us sidled along the edge of the room and escaped out into the corridor, followed by the watchdogs and Wandek. “Well?” I asked as Aronobal led us a few meters farther away.
Aronobal looked at Wandek, as if seeking permission to speak, then turned back to me. “The problem is not with Ms. German,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What I mean is that, although she has many physical problems of her own, our immediate concern is with her child. There appears to be some kind of unexpected stress in his heartbeat and brain-wave pattern.”
I looked at Bayta. Her face looked a little pinched. “How bad is it?” I asked. “Better question: what are they doing about it?”
“They will begin by taking samples of the fetal tissue and of the fluid in the birth sac,” Aronobal said. “Unfortunately, until this is settled we cannot begin work on Ms. German’s own problems.”
“Which are what exactly?” I asked. “I’ve never gotten a straight answer on that.”
Aronobal sighed, a soft whinnying thing. “She has at least four genetic disorders,” she said. “Possibly more—we have not yet done a complete mapping. Any one of the flaws could prove fatal to her over the next thirty years. Together, they are a virtual promise that her life will be cut tragically short.”
“Can you fix her?”
“We believe so,” she said. “But our knowledge of Humans and Human genetic structure is still woefully incomplete. That is indeed one reason she was invited to Proteus Station: to see whether we could map her genetic flaws and correct them.”
“But that’s now on hold?”
“It is the only safe way,” Aronobal said. “The work on Ms. German is extensive and deep, with the potential to put additional stress on the child. Were he healthy it would be a simple matter of screening out the treatment chemicals and monitoring his condition. But until we know what is causing these other anomalies we cannot risk any action that might precipitate his death.”
“And Ms. German cares about that?” I asked. “As I understand it, this child is the product of a vicious attack on her. Yet she still wants
Similar Books
