clicking sound when she moved a finger, and held no warmth. For the first time, Bashir saw—really understood —what all this meant for him now on this godforsaken waste of a planet.
Because she wore her insignia over her left breast pocket. And there was her rank, bars here instead of pips, tacked to the collars of a uniform shirt.
A scientist who broke barriers, and a soldier who followed orders.
“You said a key to a locked door.” His voice was ragged with urgency and hoarse, as if he’d run a great distance, and his mind had only now caught up. “But you didn’t have to open it, Kahayn. Not every door demands that you open it! And even if someone tried to compel you, if they ordered you, you’re a doctor, you’re a physician! For the love of God, you don’t pick people apart! You’re a healer! You could always refuse, you could say no; you could say that I am a person and a person may only go this far and no further….”
“Oh, you could, Julian, you could,” she said, and her voice was so full of remorse and compassion and regret he felt like weeping with her. “In a perfect world, you even might. But the thing is…I didn’t.”
Chapter
7
L ense felt frozen, like that moment that always came in the transporter just before she dissolved: that tiny hitch in time when things were as crisp and detailed and immutable as if cut into the heart of a rare diamond.
“But who would volunteer?” she said. Yet she already knew the answer: the military. Not different from Earth’s sometimes-not-so-distant past at all; in every war, whether with guns or experimental craft or bioweapons, soldiers were fodder. Sometimes they knew what was happening, and why. Many times they didn’t.
“They were desperate,” said Saad, as if reading her mind. “We’re all desperate, Elizabeth, just in different ways. So they did it.”
“And?”
“At first, it didn’t work. They had the same problem with rejection.”
“But that’s what’s so strange about this whole thing,” she said, without really thinking it over first. “I don’t understand the violence of this rejection business. The brain’s relatively privileged, comparatively well isolated antigenically.”
She was only aware when the silence grew that Saad was staring, as was Mara. It occurred to her, too late, that human brains were privileged. But here, their spleen and thymus are so large, probably hyperreactive to stimulus… She thought about trying to backtrack but then figured she’d put her boot in it. “How did they overcome the problem?”
“By finding someone uniquely compatible with everyone else.”
“Like a universal donor.” Well, it could work. There was blood as a precedent. But DNA? “I take it that’s rare.”
“Rare. Yes. Likely a mutation, but a very convenient one.”
“So they incorporated his…her DNA?” she asked. Saad nodded. Mara’s eyes had narrowed to slits. “And these people, they linked up and couldn’t be separated?”
“Right.” Saad held up a finger. “All but one. This universal donor, as you say. He linked, but he could also unlink, still function and think independently. They weren’t really prepared for that.”
“Why couldn’t the others?”
Mara looked at Saad, and Saad stared at a point above Lense’s head for a moment, sighed. “I think they don’t really know. But maybe he was what you called privileged.”
“But then…even if they link, who decides? Which one of them gets to, I don’t know, call the shots? What happens to free will?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
Of course, it was. But then she thought again about what he’d just said. “You said was privileged. Past tense. What happened to the donor?”
Saad shrugged. “Gone. And no use cloning his DNA without him around to, as you say, call the shots. The rest of the pod was like a computer idling, waiting for a command. So the Kornaks started looking for another, very special person. But now, you see, Nerrit’s
Because she wore her insignia over her left breast pocket. And there was her rank, bars here instead of pips, tacked to the collars of a uniform shirt.
A scientist who broke barriers, and a soldier who followed orders.
“You said a key to a locked door.” His voice was ragged with urgency and hoarse, as if he’d run a great distance, and his mind had only now caught up. “But you didn’t have to open it, Kahayn. Not every door demands that you open it! And even if someone tried to compel you, if they ordered you, you’re a doctor, you’re a physician! For the love of God, you don’t pick people apart! You’re a healer! You could always refuse, you could say no; you could say that I am a person and a person may only go this far and no further….”
“Oh, you could, Julian, you could,” she said, and her voice was so full of remorse and compassion and regret he felt like weeping with her. “In a perfect world, you even might. But the thing is…I didn’t.”
Chapter
7
L ense felt frozen, like that moment that always came in the transporter just before she dissolved: that tiny hitch in time when things were as crisp and detailed and immutable as if cut into the heart of a rare diamond.
“But who would volunteer?” she said. Yet she already knew the answer: the military. Not different from Earth’s sometimes-not-so-distant past at all; in every war, whether with guns or experimental craft or bioweapons, soldiers were fodder. Sometimes they knew what was happening, and why. Many times they didn’t.
“They were desperate,” said Saad, as if reading her mind. “We’re all desperate, Elizabeth, just in different ways. So they did it.”
“And?”
“At first, it didn’t work. They had the same problem with rejection.”
“But that’s what’s so strange about this whole thing,” she said, without really thinking it over first. “I don’t understand the violence of this rejection business. The brain’s relatively privileged, comparatively well isolated antigenically.”
She was only aware when the silence grew that Saad was staring, as was Mara. It occurred to her, too late, that human brains were privileged. But here, their spleen and thymus are so large, probably hyperreactive to stimulus… She thought about trying to backtrack but then figured she’d put her boot in it. “How did they overcome the problem?”
“By finding someone uniquely compatible with everyone else.”
“Like a universal donor.” Well, it could work. There was blood as a precedent. But DNA? “I take it that’s rare.”
“Rare. Yes. Likely a mutation, but a very convenient one.”
“So they incorporated his…her DNA?” she asked. Saad nodded. Mara’s eyes had narrowed to slits. “And these people, they linked up and couldn’t be separated?”
“Right.” Saad held up a finger. “All but one. This universal donor, as you say. He linked, but he could also unlink, still function and think independently. They weren’t really prepared for that.”
“Why couldn’t the others?”
Mara looked at Saad, and Saad stared at a point above Lense’s head for a moment, sighed. “I think they don’t really know. But maybe he was what you called privileged.”
“But then…even if they link, who decides? Which one of them gets to, I don’t know, call the shots? What happens to free will?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
Of course, it was. But then she thought again about what he’d just said. “You said was privileged. Past tense. What happened to the donor?”
Saad shrugged. “Gone. And no use cloning his DNA without him around to, as you say, call the shots. The rest of the pod was like a computer idling, waiting for a command. So the Kornaks started looking for another, very special person. But now, you see, Nerrit’s
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