Her smile was as dazzling as the morning sun. “The orders were very specific. All classes of VTOLs and zeps were prohibited from flying within fifty kilometers of Far Edge. No mention was made of powered gliders or any other type of experimental vehicle.”
“Calley-Li will not let you get away with that for long,” Rey warned.
“I may not have to,” Regan said, tossing her head.
Rey was about to ask her what she meant by that when Mercer-Konare came over and invited them to breakfast at the Town Hall. Realizing abruptly that he was famished, Rey secured the boxes to the struts of his dragonfly, then joined the crowd ascending the twisting walkway to the hall.
Inside, there was a mood of restrained celebration. Happiness at having the embargo broken was tempered by the understanding of just how small the break was. From the scraps of conversation he picked up as he made his way to Regan’s table, Rey learned that everyone else’s shipments had been as limited as the clinic’s. New chips and circuit boards had been provided when needed, but replacement parts for broken mining equipment or harvesters had been too large and massive for the Sunbird. If they could not jury-rig replacements, they would have to do without.
Rey felt irrationally pleased that the seat across from Regan was unoccupied. As the last of the unloading crew took seats, Mercer-Konare stood and tapped his tea cup. Silence fell, except for the servers bringing in the breakfast trays on roll carts.
“Before we start eating, I think we want to show our appreciation to the brave young woman who was willing to ignore the dictatorial decrees of the colonial governor and who, at great risk to her own safety, has brought us back into contact with the rest of humanity on this planet. She has brought with her a number of communications that I don’t have time to summarize but which prove that we have many supporters throughout all the colonies. For that alone, she deserves our gratitude.”
The applause was loud and prolonged. Regan’s blush was surprisingly visible despite her skin coloring.
She stood and made a slight bow to her audience. “While I have your attention, I have one more communication which I did not provide the councilor, because it was not addressed to him. I would like you all to hear it.”
She opened an envelope and extracted a large, formal looking document. “By the authority invested in me by the School of Apollo, I hereby grant to Reynolds Morrill-Landers the degree of Doctor of Medicine.”
She leaned over, handing the parchment to Rey and giving him a quick kiss. More applause, followed by some laughter at his dumbfounded expression.
“Ah, but I haven’t presented a thesis yet.”
“Your adviser, Dr. Mongosuthu, wants you to know that ‘An Analysis of Some Effects of Indigenous Parasites on Human Allergic Response,’ is scheduled for the summer issue of the Apollo Journal of Medicine. He urges you to clean it up for publication as soon as possible.”
Breakfast,trays were placed before them and all talk was replaced by a reverent hush, broken only by the occasional clatter of silverware.
“That is our other long term problem,” Mercer-Konare said at length, regretfully regarding his empty plate as he put down his knife and fork. “We’ve made it through the winter largely on stored goods. Those vegetable gardens nearly everyone grows were meant to supplement our diets, not sustain them. We will need to see if we can cultivate enough acreage to sustain the entire colony. If we can’t—”
“If we can’t, we may have to live off the land, just like the Naturalers have always wanted,” Martina Mazio-Carr said.
She pulled a chair around to join them and leaned on its back. “How can we do that?” Rey asked.
“The same way O’Donnel and his friends were able to,” she answered. “For that matter, it’s the same way Bhagwati’s sheep have been able to thrive on fields which are mostly native vegetation.”
The table fell silent. Satisfied that she had their attention, she continued. “Rey has already given you most of the pieces of the puzzle. Through the process of convergent evolution, a native variety of protozoan has modified itself sufficiently to live in our digestive systems. It hasn’t had the severe effects terrestrial parasites used to have, probably because it has not been able to completely adapt to its new host. A fair amount of our diet must be useless, if not actually detrimental, to it.
“But if our diet is not completely nourishing, much of the local fauna is. The effect of that is—”
“That these aren’t parasites at all,” Rey interrupted excitedly. “I let myself be misled by the allergy response. What we have is… symbiosis?”
“Looks like,” Martina agreed. “Or at least something reasonably close. It’s hard to say because we are trying to identify something while it’s still trying to change to adapt to us. If it were a successful parasite, we might find ourselves devoured from inside. If it were a fully evolved symbiote, on the other hand, our immune systems wouldn’t attack it and we would still have allergy problems.
“Most of the native plants have starches and sugars too complex for our digestive systems. The symbiotes break these down into human-usable form.”
“Then that’s how O’Donnel’s party was able to survive,” Rey surmised. “Despite everything we’ve always been taught, they were able to metabolize a fair proportion of what they ate.”
“It is also the reason Belkom Michaels-Nye died,” Martina said somberly. “Normally, the symbiotes are not dangerous to us. Aside from reducing allergies, their effect is to increase our appetite. Put another way, there is a caloric price for allergy reduction. Belkom was stranded with supplies apportioned for uninfected humans. When they were gone, the symbiotes became parasitical, deriving nourishment from what was closest at hand. Which was Belkom.”
Rey dropped his eyes, feeling embarrassed. He put his certificate on the table between them. “I think they awarded this to the wrong person.”
“Probably so,” Martina agreed, “but I’ll get my recognition soon enough.
Provided, of course, that the governor and his friends don’t vaporize us in a fit of panic.”
VIII.
As it turned out, they had nothing to worry about. That afternoon, a news flash reported that Governor Calley-Li had been found dead in his study. The laser pistol held in his hand had been the cause of death.
Two hours later, a shaken Acting Governor Normana Girouard-Sime announced a partial lifting of the embargo against Far Edge. All goods would be allowed into the colony. Manufactured goods could be exported. If the School of Apollo determined that the infection was basically harmless (as it was expected to do shortly) all further restrictions would be lifted.
Darkness swept up from the jungle far below and shadowed the sky in ever deepening shades of blue. Stars appeared, pinpricks of cold fire.
Rey felt, rather than saw, Regan beside him. “What are you looking for?”
He pointed. “That bright star up there is Arcturus. If you look just to the right of it, you’ll see a dim little star.”
“Sol,” Regan said. “Manhome.”
Rey nodded. “My advisor pointed it out to me my first year at Apollo. He told me how, for nearly a century, humanity thought it knew everything about the nuclear reactions that made it shine. Then, in the latter part of the twentieth century, experimenters realized that there were too few neutrinos being produced for their model to be true. Just by itself, that should have been enough to demonstrate that they knew nothing. Yet for years they questioned their data, concocted extravagant theories, and almost until the end had no idea how quickly doom was racing down upon them.
“ ‘Whenever you look at Sol, think of how little you know,’ he said, ‘And consider how much of what you do know may not be so.’ ”