Walter accepted the massive muscles as a reflection of the physical existence outside the hive. The buckeye’s elevated neurohumoral axis resulted in hypertrophy of the vestigial endocrine organs—ten times larger than the Nebish. Kaia’s pituitary was so large that Walter could see it with his naked eye. Citizen pituitaries were microscopic. Adipose tissue was almost absent—Cachexia. A Nebish body had a specific gravity of less than 0.85. It always floated. Kaia’s body read 1.005. It sank in fresh water.
Dissection went smoothly until the prostate was found. At first the Pathomeck was puzzled. Nebish anatomy made no mention of this primitive organ related to territorial integrity. Kaia’s prostate was a definite organ weighing over fifty grams. Again Walter smiled at the significance—the five-toeds would never fit into the hive as long as they carried a prostate this size—fifty grams of glands and fibromuscular stroma at the neck of the bladder made committee work impossible.
At the end of his assignment, fat Walter saw to it that Kaia’s melanin-rich hide was mounted on his iron bones in a dignified pose behind vacuum glass. Biolabs indexed Kaia’s specimen cubes and cared for the display case—labelled “The Last Buckeye.” It saddened old Walter.
Val took pleasure in the display, especially the Big ES labels utilizing disease states to enumerate buckeye differences.
10
Olga
During the months that followed, Val did his chores with the suicides—bird jumpers, and the flower and mushroom catatonics. He worried about the buckeye heterozygotes. Few had been turned into patties so far. The mothers delayed. Well, they could keep them until they began to walk and talk.
Watcher wasn’t concerned. Doors had been admonished to allow only authorized personnel exit. Calorie rewards were offered to any citizen reporting attempts to go Outside.
Val strolled absently through his old office at Hunter Control. More junk had accumulated. Many corridors were impassable. Thick spongy dust covered everything. He saw footprints in the dust and followed them down to Garage. He found fat Walter hunched over the workbench putting a vacuum into rebuilt meck eyes. Walter glanced up and greeted Val.
“They work better at ten-to-the-minus-six torr. More stable too,” said Walter.
“You shouldn’t be here. What about your heart?”
“I’m lots stronger. Got a job doing piecework on optics. Using some of the gear Tinker left. The vacuum pump he rebuilt certainly is an improvement over the leaky vacuum lines.”
Val glanced around. One of the bays was empty.
“Who moved the chassis?” he asked.
“That’s Doberman’s bay,” said Walter. “The crazy guitar took him.”
Val strolled over to the empty bay. Nothing was damaged. Servomecks rested in their recessed sleeves. Odd. The Huntercraft’s power cell also sat in its recess—the core being replated.
“Impossible!” grumbled Val. “The craft is dead without its power cell. It can’t go anywhere.”
Walter shrugged.
“Perhaps that crazy guitar can make a dead Huntercraft fly just as easily as it makes a dead buckeye walk—” he suggested.
Val ran over to the rewired buckeye detector cables. Putting the wall map on delayed and latent images he tried to project sightings. Nothing. The map showed crops and Agromecks.
“That damned guitar is beginning to irritate me. I bet it is the brains behind the RUDEE too,” spat Val.
Dee Pen struggled up from shaft base with her load of calorie-basic—staple foodstuffs. She had grown thin and weak while little Kaia thrived. He crawled at six months—a year earlier than Nebish children. She knew the chucker team was accustomed to sluggish hive children. They shouldn’t be coming for him yet. She entered the living room and glanced around.
“Where’s little Kaia?” she asked, apprehensively.
Female Bitter sat at the table munching a dry tube sandwich. The outer door had been left carelessly ajar.
“Crawled out to the spiral,” said Bitter. “The chuck wagon picked him up.”
“Not the chuck wagon!” screamed Dee Pen, dropping her groceries and dashing for the door. She ran, fell and ran again. The dreaded chuck wagon was the Big ES solution to the anxiety of the chucker team. Instead of throwing a net over the unwanted kids and dragging them off to the pattie press—kicking and screaming—they had one brightly-clad Nebish show up with a little wagon full of toys. The unauthorized child would be lured into the wagon and hauled off gooing and cooing quietly. Dee Pen fell again. Skin peeled down on her right knee. She rounded a corner and knocked down three fat, docile citizens.
She saw the wagon.
Little Kaia was still in it, hugging a fuzzy round doll with one big eye and one small eye. The chucker pulling on the wagon wore a bright apron with colored drawings. He stopped when he saw Dee Pen approaching. She was bleeding from the knee and appeared agitated enough to attack him. He wasn’t being paid to use force.
“My baby. My baby,” she sobbed, picking him up. His little hands clutched the fuzzy toy.
“I’m afraid that I will have to report—” began the apron-clad Nebish.
Her glare silenced him.
Bitter was surprised to see Dee Pen and the child.
“We’re going Outside,” said Dee Pen. “Can we have some of your credits for rations?”
Bitter shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid to cooperate—the Big ES has rules, you know. It is foolish for you to try it. You’ll just wither and die out there. So will the child.”
“I’ve got to try it. Either way—it makes little difference to my baby. At least this way I’m giving him a chance.”
As she left, Bitter shouted: “You are throwing your life away for nothing—he’s just a little heterozygote.”
Bitter called Security to claim the reward.
“Unauthorized,” said Door.
Dee Pen hurried around the top spiral trying door after door. Below on the spiral she heard the ominous marching of the Security Squad. She trembled. Little Kaia cried.
Far across the spiral the baby’s voice activated a latent memory circuit. “Ward of Gitar—this way out,” called open Door.
Walter and Val picked up the diaper. A wet spot remained on the Harvester’s fender.
“Not too panicky,” commented Val. “She paused long enough to change a diaper and pick up items from the garage dispenser. The buckeye must have had a class six with him—to give all those latent orders to Door and Dispenser.”
Walter nodded. A class six. Rank higher than Watcher. The mecks were just following orders.
“She can’t get far,” said Val. “What did the dispenser give to her?”
Walter read the flimsy—protective clothing, diapers, medipacks. Very carefully planned.
Door gave them four inches to peek out. Sunlight glared.
“Well, we can’t follow them without our own protective gear. Say! What is this item she took?” said Val, studying the list.
“Jodphurs,” said Walter. “Baggy riding breeches.” He glanced uncomfortably at one of the empty bays.
“Riding?” exclaimed Val. “What is there to ride—? Oh. Tiller is missing.”
He stepped to the wall console and opened a channel to Tiller. The missing meck promptly answered.
“Where are you?” demanded Val.
“Working in the fields—doing my chores.”
“Did you give anyone transport this morning?”
“Yes,” said the meck. “A mother with child. My itinerary is on file.”
Val projected the map.
“He dropped them off in the plankton towers. Come on.”
They put in an order for Cl-En suits and helmets. Walter balked at the archery gear.