The arks preserve such fragmentary codes as have been recovered from human specimens thousands of years old, from Terran genepools predating the development of genebanks in the 20th century, from the last pre-mixing genepools of the motherworld, and from remains both animal and human preserved through centuries of natural freezing and other circumstances which have preserved some internal cellular structure.
Imagine the difference such reference would make today, if such arks had preserved the genetic information of the geologic past. Earth, thus far unique in its evidences of cataclysmic extinctions of high lifeforms, might, with such libraries, recover the richness of all its evolutionary lines, and solve the persistent enigmas of its past. . . .
Reseune has never abandoned a genetic option. It has seen to the preservation of those options to a degree unprecedented in the history of the human species, and, working as it does with a view toward evolutionary change, has preserved all the possible divergences. . . .
CHAPTER 3
i
Time stopped being. There was just the tape-flow, mostly placid, occasionally disturbing. There were intervals of muzzy waking, but the trank continueduntil now, that Grant drifted closer to the surface.
"Come on, you've got a visitor," someone said, and a damp cloth touched his face. The washing proceeded downward, gently, neck and chest, with an astringent smell. "Wake up."
He slitted his eyes. He stared at the ceiling while the washing proceeded, and hoped they would let him loose, but it was not much hope. He wished they would give him trank again, because the fear was back, and he had been comfortable while it lasted.
He grew chill with the air moving over damp skin. He wanted the sheet back again. But he did not ask. He had stopped trying to communicate with the people that handled him and they did not hurt him anymore. That was all he asked. He remembered to blink. He saw nothing. He tried not to feel the cold. He felt a twinge when the tech jostled the needle in his arm. His back ached, and it would be the most wonderful relief if they would change the position of the bed.
"There." The sheet settled over him again. A light slap popped against his face, but he felt no pain. "Come on. Eyes open."
"Yes," he murmured. And shut them again the moment the azi tech left him alone.
He heard another voice then, at the door, young and male. He lifted his head and looked and saw Justin there. He distrusted the vision at once, and jerked at the restraints.
But Justin came to him, sat down on the side of his bed and took his hand despite the restraint that gave him only a little movement. It was a warm grip. It felt very real.
"Grant?"
"Please don't do this."
"Grant, for God's sake Grant, you're home. You understand me?"
It was very dangerous even to think about believing. It meant giving up. There was no secret sign his own mind could not manufacture. There was no illusion tape could not create. Justin was what they would use. Of course.
"Grant?"
Tape could even make him think he was awake. Or that the mattress gave, or that Justin held him by the shoulder. Only the keen pain in his back penetrated the illusion. It was not perfect.
Realityhad such little discordances.
"They won't let me take you back to the apartment yet. Ari won't. What are they doing? Are you all right? Grant?"
Questions. He could not figure how they fitted. There was usually a pattern. These had to do with credibility. That was the game.
"Grant, dammit!" Justin popped his hand against his cheek, gently. "Come on. Eyes open. Eyes open."
He resisted. That was how he knew he was doing better. He drew several breaths and his back and shoulders hurt like hell. He was in terrible danger . . . because he thought that the illusion was real. Or because he had lost the distinction.
"Come on, dammit."
He slitted his eyes cautiously. Saw Justin's face, Justin with a frightened look.
"You're home. In hospital. You understand? Ari blew them all to hell and got you out."
(Blood spattering the walls. The smell of smoke.)
It looked like hospital. It looked like Justin. There was no test that would confirm it, not even if they let him out to walk around. Only time would do that, time that went on longer than any tape-illusion.
"Come on, Grant. Tell me you're all right."
"I'm all right." He drew a breath that hurt his back and realized he could get things out of this illusion. "My back's killing me. My arms hurt. Can you move the bed?"
"I'll get them to take those off."
"I don't think they will. But I'd like the bed moved. There" The surface under him flexed like a living thing and shifted upward, bringing his head up. The whole surface made a series of waves that flexed muscles and joints. "Oh, that's better."
Justin settled back on the edge, making a difference in the ripples. "Ari tracked you to Kruger's. Kruger was being blackmailed. He handed you over to the Abolitionists. I had to go to Ari. She got somebodyI don't know whoto go in after you. She said they'd been running tape."
He had had no structure for that time. No division between there and here. He examined the gift very carefully. "How long?"
"Two days."
Possible.
"You've been here two days," Justin said. "They let Jordan and me in right after they brought you in. Now they say I can visit."
It frightened him. It wanted to move in permanently, an illusion against which his defenses were very limited. He was losing. He sat there and cried, feeling the tears slip down his face.
"Grant."
"All right." He was nearly gone. "But if I tell you to leave, you leave."
"Grant, it's not tape. You're here, dammit." Justin squeezed his hand till the bones ground together. "Focus. Look at me. All right?"
He did. "If I tell you to leave"
"I'll go. All right. Do you want me to?"
"Don't do that to me. For God's sake"
"I'll get Ivanov. Damn them. Damn them."
Justin was on his way to his feet. Grant clenched his hand, holding on to him. Held on and held tight; and Justin sat down again and hugged him hard. "Unnnh." It hurt. It felt real. Justin could pull him back. Justin knew what he was doing, knew what was the matter with him, knew why he was afraid. Was his ally. Or he was lost. "It's going to take a while."
"About a week to get you out of here. Ari says." He remembered crises other than his own. He looked at Justin as Justin sat back. Remembered why he had gone down the river. "She give you trouble?"
"I'm all right."
Lie. More and more real. Tape was better than this. In a while Justin would go away and he would remember believing it and be afraid. But in the meanwhile it made him afraid for a different, more tangible reason. Jordan's transfer; Justin's sending him awaythe fragments assumed a time-sense. When existed again. The real world had traps in it, traps involved Ari, Justin had tried to get him free, he was home and Justin was in trouble. No. Careful. Careful.
"What did she do when she found out I was gone?"
"I'll tell you later."
Dammit, he did not need worry to upset his stomach. It felt like home. Secrets, Ari, and trouble. And everything he loved. He took in a slow, long breath. "I'm holding on," he said, knowing Justin would understand. "I don't want any more tape. I don't want any more sedation. I need to stay awake. I want them to leave the lights on. All the time. I want to get this damn tube out of my arm."