The starship model Scharn had seen on Halian's desk suddenly made sense. Six mainters, six mutually isolated pods... "So you really are all alone out there."
"Pretty much, except for Max."
"I see. How do you feel about being alone? Does it ever bother you?"
Tomo snorted. "Of course not. What kind of stupid question is that?" His eyes flicked between Scharn and the others. "What's going on here, anyway?"
Scharn raised her hands chest high, palms outward, in a soothing gesture she hoped Tomo would understand. "All right; let's get back to Maigre, then. Can you tell me exactly why you want to visit the planet?"
Irritation was beginning to replace the tension in Tomo's face. "Why is everyone making such a big deal about this?" he snapped. "I've never been dirtside before and I got curious about it. Haven't any of you ever wanted to try something new?"
"Of course we have," Ross put in. "It's just that dirtside conditions are so different from starship life that we wanted you to understand exactly what it would be like. On a planet, you see, you have wide, open-roofed spaces—"
"I know—Max already gave me the full list. I can get used to it."
"There are also people down there," Scharn reminded him. "Lots of people. It seems to me you're having trouble right now, with just three of us in the same room with you."
The tension flooded full force back into Tomo's expression, and Scharn had the sudden impression that he'd halfway convinced himself that his visitors were actually just images on a viewer screen. "I can manage," he ground out. "If you can get used to a port, I can get used to a planet."
"You're talking nonsense, Tomo," Halian said, his frustration evident in his tone. "You're a starship mainter—you don't belong on a planet."
"Do people belong on Charon's World?" Tomo retorted. "Or Tau Ceti? Human beings can adapt to practically anything."
"Sure they can. Except that—"
Halian broke off abruptly; at the same time, Scharn sensed Ross jerk in reaction. She turned back and forth quickly, trying to catch the men's expressions before they could be covered up. She saw enough to decide it was time for a showdown. Turning back to Tomo, she said, "I think we'd better leave you for a while, Tomo. I need to discuss a few things with Director Halian before we talk any more about your trip to Maigre. In the meantime, though, I'm sure you could walk around the station if you'd like. It's not a planet, but it would give you some practice in getting used to other people."
She stood up, Ross and Halian following suit. The latter gripped Scharn's upper arm in a reaction that added fuel to her suspicions. "I'm not sure letting him run loose is a good idea," the director whispered.
"Good-bye," Scharn smiled at Tomo. She stepped past Ross, the movement forcing Halian to release his hold on her arm, and led the way out of the room. As the door closed she got a glimpse of Tomo sagging in obvious relief.
"Dr. Scharn," Halian said, again taking her arm, "he should not be allowed free access to the station—"
She shook off the hold and started down the corridor. "Let's go to your office, Mr. Halian," she called back over her shoulder. "We've got a lot of talking to do."
The return trip was made in chilly silence. Scharn held her fire until Halian was seated behind his desk again, and then let him have it.
"I don't know what you think about miracle cures and psychiatry," she bit out, "but I can assure you that I won't be able to do the job you hired me for unless I start getting some straight answers."
"I know," Halian said, waving her toward the seat she'd occupied earlier. "Sit down, Doctor."
She remained standing. "I mean genuinely straight answers. First Tomo was chosen, then he was conditioned, and now you've practically bitten your tongue off because he started talking about what humans can do. Now, either you give me the whole story or you schedule me a seat on the next shuttle back to Maigre."
Halian stared up at her in stony patience for a couple of heartbeats after she finished her speech, then once more indicated her chair. "Sit down, Doctor."
She hesitated, then obeyed, realizing with some chagrin that Halian was still in control of the situation. Psychological training, apparently, was no match for the experience gained in boardroom battles.
"You're right, of course," Halian said. "We should have told you everything right away. I suppose my only excuse is that you're an outsider, and that after a certain number of years keeping secrets away from outsiders becomes a very strong habit." He shifted his gaze to Ross. "Doctor? You know the details better than I do."
Ross pursed his lips briefly. "As I'm sure you know, Dr. Scharn, every human personality trait is a product of both heredity and environment, the genetic arrangement forming a sort of bedrock infrastructure of tendencies and aptitudes on which the individual personality is expressed." He paused. "What you may not know is that any of these genetic tendencies can be... enhanced, as it were, to a point where none of the subsequent environmental factors can really affect it. That's basically what's been done to Tomo."
She'd halfway been expecting this, but hadn't really wanted to believe it. "Are you saying," she said carefully, "that you've genetically engineered that entire corps of starship mainters to be afraid of people?"
"Not on purpose," Ross said. "The procedure was designed to make them able to tolerate—even enjoy—years of solitude at a time. Apparently the anthropophobia comes as an unavoidable part of the package."
"The package?" Scharn exploded. "My God—these are human beings you're talking about. People you've deliberately warped." She glared at Halian. "And it is most certainly illegal."
The director didn't flinch. "As a matter of fact, Parallax Industries has a special exemption from the general laws on genetic engineering. And if it helps any, I was just as outraged as you are when I first found out about this."
"You've done a good job of silencing your conscience, then," Scharn said coldly. "Does Parallax pay that much?"
"It's not a matter of personal bribery. It's the simple fact that the benefits of interstellar trade vastly outweigh the costs."
"Oh, of course," she retorted. "The costs are negligible—unless you happen to be one of those people out there."
"I'd advise against hypocrisy, Doctor," Halian said, a touch of irritation showing through his executive mask. "You benefit as much from the trade as anyone else, and I doubt you've ever given two seconds' thought to the people who provide you the goods."
"Don't shift the burden to as," Scharn bit out. "If people knew you were using genetic slavery they'd give up their precious furs and exotic foods like a shot."
"And their last fifteen years of life, too?" Ross asked quietly.
Scharn turned to him. "What?"
"Fifteen years is the extra life expectancy that outsystem medicines have provided us," he amplified.
The first hint of uncertainty began to play around the edges of her anger. "Medicines can be synthesized, though, once the molecular structure's known," she pointed out. "Intersystem lasers can transfer the knowledge at that point." "Usually," Ross nodded, "but not always. Have you ever heard of Willut's Chaser?"
Scharn frowned. "I think so. Isn't that that weird semiliving chemical that seeks out cancerous cells?"
"That's the one. Revolutionized the whole treatment procedure, made it possible for the first time to really root out an entire tumor without doing even a scrap of damage to the surrounding healthy tissue. And after sixty years we still can neither synthesize it nor successfully cultivate the Altairan nematoid strain that produces it."