You are humanwaela because you are at once human and at once Waela. There may be such a time as this is not so. Then you will be human.
"When will that be?"
The cold node of a pribox drilled the back of her left hand, tingled up her arm and sent her down a whirlwind of dis-timed memories which were not her own.
When you know all that otherhumans know, and otherhumans know all of you, then you are human.
She concentrated on that magnificent universe of the interior which this concept opened before her. Avata. She had no sensation of time while she floated in the arms of Avata, or whether Avata was really with her. If it was just a dream, she wanted it never to end.
Only you can end it, humanwaela. See?
Memories poured into her - from that first sensory awareness of the first Avata to the coming of Shipmen to Pandora and then to her rescue from the gondola - everything poured into her through a timeless flash, a non-linear stream of sensations.
This is not hallucination!
She saw humans, Shipman/humans of many suns, and uncounted histories which died with them. It baffled her how she understood this. Ho.... ?
She heard the voice in her mind: This we trade with those we touch. Lives of all humans alive in each of you. But you and humankerro are the first to recognize the trade. Others resist and fear. Fear erases. Humanthomas resists, but out of humanfear, not out of humanthomas fear. There is something he will not trade.
Waela found herself eavesdropping through another's eyes. She was looking in a mirror and the face that looked back was Raja Thomas. A shaking hand explored the face, a wan face, tired. She heard a voice which she knew to be Ship's.
Raj.
Then there were no more mind pictures. He blanked her out. Rejected.
She found herself alone on a gurney in a Redoubt passage.
So Thomas is on speaking terms with Ship.
"Why?" The question was a dry crackle in her throat and a nearby med-tech bent over her. "You'll be shipside soon, dear. Don't worry." The gurney's straps hurt her breasts.
This is Pandora, humanwaela. All evil has been released here.
There was that voice again. Not Kerro. Avata?
The word tingled on her tongue as med-techs began to roll her gurney onto a shuttle. There was another face above her then - dream or reality? Small, a face like Lewis, but not Lewis. The voices all around were babble. She was being wheeled, pushed and probed, but her attention remained with the voice in her mind and the link she had seen to that intricate chain of humanity.
"She's pregnant. That means shipside, the Natali. Orders."
"How long's she been pregnant?"
"Looks like more'n a month."
That can't be! she thought. I've just arrived here and Kerro an.... .
She felt a doubled awareness of time then - one told her she had arrived at the Redoubt late in the same diurn that had seen their sub enter the lagoon. The other time-sense lived in her abdomen, and the clock there had gone ma.... spinning, spinning, spinning. It raced completely out of pace with the clock in her head.
"She'll be the Natali's problem pretty soon," someone said. Those were words in her ears. Time out of sync was more important. From the time Kerro had slipped into her....
The time was out of phase. She knew only that she must be delivered shipside to the Natali. That was the way of WorShip.
How can that be, Avata?
She felt that she was meant to be pregnant and the act of conception was an Avata formality.
As the hatchway opened to the shuttle the lean-faced man took hold of the gurney and she saw that it was one of Murdoch's people, a long-fingered clone who spoke in a falsetto. A shock of fear jolted her body.
Am I going shipside?"
She couldn't bring herself to ask the other half of the question, Or to Lab One!
Yes," he said, as she thumped across the threshold of the shuttle.
What do we do now?" she asked aloud. And the voice from her mind said, Save the world.
Then the hatchdogs were secured and she slept.
***
CONSCIOUS: from Latin com, with scire (to know).
CONSCIENCE: from Latin com (intensive), with scire.
Conscious - to know; conscience - to know well (or, in the vernacular, to know better).
"SHIPSIDE!" OAKES screamed into the vocoder on his console. "Who ordered the TaoLini woman shipside?"
The med-tech facing him on the screen looked terrified and small. His little mouth worked itself into a stumble of words.
"You did, sir. I mea.... orders. She's pregnant, sir, and you signed the WorShip order sending al...."
"Don't tell me what I signed!"
"No, sir. Are you ordering her back, sir?"
Oakes pressed a hand against his forehead.
Too late, now. The Natali have her. Reprocessing her ground-side would mean an executive order and that would mean attention. The Redoubt was problem enough. Better to let the matter rest until something could be arrange.... Damn! Why couldn't we have moved the Natali down her.... ?
"I want to talk to Murdoch."
"He is shipside, sir."
"I know he's shipside! Get him on a line to me as soon as you can!"
He smacked the key on the console with the side of his fist and the frightened little med-tech's face faded.
Damn! Just when things were going right!
He looked out over the clear bay beside the shuttle station. No more kelp there anyway. The perimeter lights and the arcs from the nightside crew's torches reflected the flat calm of the water.
No kelp. It'll be gone from Pandora before we know it.
That left Ship.
The ship.
And now, that TaoLini woman. No telling what she knows. Thomas could have convinced her of anything. After all, he was a Ceepee....
Oakes turned back to his console and activated the holo of Thomas' debriefing.
Thomas sat in the center of the room, a cell three meters square. He faced the sensor. A tall woman from Behavioral stood facing Thomas and he was shaking his head from side to side.
"No time. No time. 'You must decide how you will WorShip,' Ship says and the clue is in the sea. I know it's in the sea. WorShi.... WorShip. And there is no time, after all the eons and all these world.... no time. No time...." Oakes switched off the holo in disgust.
The kelp got to him, that's for sure. Maybe it's just as well.
He paced back to the plaz which screened the ocean view, and watched the dazzle of the welders and cutters play across the water.
The kelp is a trade, he thought. Thomas wasn't all that far off. With the kelp gone, we buy ourselves time and with time we buy a world. Not a bad barter.
He retraced his steps again and again, plaz to console, console to plaz.... Having that TaoLini woman shipside was too big a variable - something would have to be done.
Damn that tech! His fist came down again. He should've double-talked her into Lab One instead of letting her go shipside. Can't the fool think for himself? Do I have to make every decision?
He knew Murdoch was up there in a power-scrimmage with Ferry, but they were Lewis' people and it was Lewis' business. This whole fiasco was really Lewis' fault.
"Until they interfere with the Ceepee," he said aloud, pointing an affirmative finger at his reflection in the plaz. On the other side of the reflection, the quiet bay began to pick up the rhythmic rush rush of small waves licking at the beach.
***
Inflection is the adjective of language. It carries the subtleties of delight and horror, the essence of culture and social process. Such is the light-pattern displayed by the kelp; such is the song of the hylighter.
WAELA SAT watching a holo of Panille as a child. Except for the projected action at the holofocus, it was quiet in the small teaching study where Hali Ekel had put her. The chair, a simple sling in a metal frame, presented the holocontrols on its arm beneath her right hand. Soft blue light suffused the room, down-toned to increase resolution at the holofocus. Each time the holosound subsided, a low sussuration of venting air could be heard.