The Kekulé Factor

8/8/2019 The Kekulé Factor

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THE KEKULÉ FACTOR

© 1986 Robert G. Ferrell

A soft, persistent beeping insinuated itself into his awareness and nudged him gently

towards waking. He snapped awake and immediately regretted having fallen asleep inhis command chair, a piece of furniture designed to discourage inattention to duty. Withexaggerated care he swiveled his head around in search of the thing which hadawakened him. Burdened as he was with bleary vision and the fuzzy disorientation ofthe recently and involuntarily conscious, it took some time before he could focus wellenough to pinpoint the source of the innocuous little chirpings, but finally his gaze came torest on a squat cuboidal box which sat on a counter to his left and steamed, cheerfully, asit beeped to indicate that the steaming liquid within was ready.

The coffee was a bit on the thim.side this morning, and he made a fuzzy mental note to dosomething about that after his dexterity had a chance to catch up to the rest of him. It

was something of a miracle that the Potable Liquid Dispenser had been able tosynthesize this particular beverage at all, however, so he really had no complaint.Coffee was quite obscure in this day and age; he had acquired a taste for it while onassignment to an old Earth colony whose inhabitants had managed to establish Coffea onsome nearby tropical hillsides. So far as he knew, the plant had become extinct on itsnative planet when the last of its South American habitat had been cleared for anEnvironmental Impact Documents storage facility.

This morning he was well disposed toward the PLD anyway, as it had succeeded inwaking him where his ultratech biochronometer had failed utterly. The panmetalliccomposite disc implanted at the base of his skull was not only demonstrably unreliable as

an alarm clock, it was also a constant source of vague physical irritation, despite theunctuous assurances of CENSRAD that such discomfort was an impossibility. TheirBioaugmentation Surgical Team had taken great pains to ensure that each and every oneof the surrounding nerves was within the paresthetic continuity field; no sensation of thedevice was therefore medically possible. They wouldn't listen to his protestations to thecontrary.

The failure of the implant was therefore a source of satisfaction to him, especially with thevast array of other CENSRAD technology surrounding him. "Up to my navel inBiometrics," he said aloud to no one, "And the only thing around here that works worth adonkey's backside is the damned digital coffeepot." He smiled a smug smile and punchedup something for breakfast.

He finished his coffee and the thoroughly tasteless freeze-dried eggs and bacon he hadmade a determined effort to enjoy, and reached across to switch on the ImplementationScheduling display. It silently flashed his-mission for him (he had disconnected the voicemodule, which he found patronizing):



ASSIGNMENT: PRIVATE COLONY JS42719-13

STATUS: NO COMMUNICATION WITH COLONY SINCE 2215.12.3

PRESUMED EXTINCTRECOMMENDED ACTION: FULL PRECAUTION PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATORYPROCEDURE

"Oh, no," he groaned dismally. Despite the undeniable wisdom of taking everyprecaution against unknown and potentially fatal circumstances, he really despised theFPPIP. After a brief and pointless argument with himself over whether or not todisregard the computer recommendation, he sighed and gave in. You can't fight city hall,he thought, especially when you live there.

After a quick sonic shower (he wished old-fashioned water were available; this thing lefthim for hours with the macabre impression that his skin was trying to inch its way off hisbody), he started putting on the Self-Contained Organism-Neutralizing EnvironmentalSuit, which he would not be able to remove until the computer had determined that anyartifacts or samples he retrieved from the colony were harmless. This, he decided,would not be a lot of fun.

The several concentric layers of the Suit fit rather loosely over his frame, but when it wasentirely assembled he snapped on the power cell, donned a more rigid helmet of thesame material, and stepped into the Suit Integrity Chamber. A soft blue light envelopedhim, and he felt the suit fabric contract. When he stepped out of the Chamber, he wascovered in a tight gray sheath which was in effect a second skin. The ovoid helmet hadmelded with the suit collar, leaving only a thick transparent rectangle over his face tointerrupt the ubiquitous gray. The suit protected him from everything, even his owntactile impressions; he felt, as usual, like a sensory deprivation experiment in progress.It matched his skin temperature precisely, and generated a thin but formidablebioprotective field which made the universe indistinct. CENSRAD propaganda said thatthe suit would protect him from anything smaller and less powerful than a Timber Wolf, alimitation he hoped never to put to the test. The suit was new technology, and hisexperience in it was limited to training exercises, where he had sloshed throughseemingly endless Toxic Organisms and Substances Tests. This was his (and, in fact,the suit's) first field assignment. He found himself longing for the old, cumbersome,shoulder-harnessed Cocoon Generator.

After checking the efficacy of his precautionary measures by subjecting himself and hissuit to a Laminar Flow Simulated Severe Hazards Integrity Test, he slid open a panel andremoved a large Mass-Negating Instrument Case, whose surface repellor field activatedautomatically, giving the bulky MANIC the apparent mass of a few dozen neutrinos. Hegrasped the small yellow handle which protruded conspicuously from a recessed area inone end of the MANIC and drew out a syntifiber strap about a meter long. He walked



through the shimmering airlock boundary membrane, tugging the weightless MANICalong behind. "Come on, Rover," he said to the silent metal box, "Let's go find you a firehydrant."

The Civilian Outpost Permit Application and File for Colony JS42719-13 glowed before

him in miniature on the MANIC's Remote Data Acquisition screen:DATE OF APPLICATION: 2208.8.21DATE OF FINAL APPROVAL: 2209.1.18REGISTERED NAME: CAER ANNWEN

MINIMUM TECHNOLOGY LEVEL OUTPOST ESTABLISHED ABOUT 2210.2 BY AGROUP OF WEALTHY CITIZENS WHO WERE APPARENTLY THE REMNANTS OF ALATE-TWENTIETH CENTURY SOCIAL EXPERIMENT IN WHICH SUBJECTSUNDERWENT VOLUNTARY RETROGRADE SOCIAL AND TECHNOLOGICALDEVELOPMENT FOR REASONS UNKNOWN. THE GROUP POSSESSED ONLY

PRIMITIVE COMMUNICATIONS EQUIPMENT AND VIRTUALLY NOTECHNOLOGICAL CAPABILITY. THEIR DECLARATION OF INTENT TO EMIGRATESTATED UNDER JUSTIFICATION FOR NONSTANDARD EQUIPMENT MANIFESTTHAT THE MAJORITY OF THE RECOMMENDED PIECES OF SURVIVAL GEARWERE BEING DELETED FROM SHIPBOARD STORES BECAUSE SUCH EQUIPMENTWAS 'TOO TECHNOLOGICAL.' SINCE EMIGRATION STATUTES DID NOT AT THATTIME REQUIRE STANDARD MANIFESTS, THE APPLICATION WAS EVENTUALLYAPPROVED. THE COMMUNIQUES ISSUED BY THE COLONY WERE BRIEF ANDWIDELY SPACED. ALTHOUGH SOME TELEMETRY DATA WERE RECEIVED UNTIL2215.12.3, THE LAST VOICE TRANSMISSION WAS RECORDED 2215.5.1; CONTENTFOLLOWS: 'HAPPY NEW YEAR.' THIS COLONY WASDESIGNATED 'ECCENTRIC BUT NOT THREATENING' BY THE BUREAU OF SPACEDEMOGRAPHICS AND ITS FILE CLOSED ON 2217.5.1.

He shook his head. "What a bunch of card-carrying weirdos," he muttered.

The Surface Configuration Analysis computer had landed his beetle of a ship about fiftymeters from the periphery of the principal settlement of the lost colony. The settlementconsisted, he noted derisively into the voice data recorder of the MANIC, of crumblingwooden buildings, rotted canvas shelters, and a fairly impressive structure of native stonehe dubbed 'the Castle.' He decided to start his survey at the edge of the settlement andwork his way systematically toward the center, which was dominated by this rock edifice.

"An interesting collection of antiques here, some of them probably valuable," he dictatedin his detached, professional voice. He wiped off an astonishing stratum of dust from atable in one of the decrepit buildings and was taken aback by a fleeting shimmer of gold.He blew off the rest of the fine powder with a compressed air nozzle and discovered ahalf-finished illuminated page of stained and crumbling parchment. He had heard ofsuch artifacts through ancient history holotapes; a few related items had escaped theravages of man and time and were carefully preserved in regional museums. As a child,



he recalled visiting the Bloomington International Gardens and Museum of Culture, orsomething to that effect. There he had seen a vast array of more-or-less wondrousexamples of--art and the craft of making things for both beauty and utility's sake beforethe advent of mechanized aesthetics. He felt, in viewing them and even at his tenderage, that here was something quite remarkable, quite without equivalence in his modern

world. His awe was evoked most especially by his discovery in that atavistic maze of alarge flexiglass display case of various hand-produced documents. The only one hecould clearly recall was a sheet marked "Ramsey Psalter c. 1300," with the words"Pierpont Morgan" stamped at an angle along one margin. He never expected to seeanything like that delicate flower of antiquity on this remote rock. He reverently ran hisfingers very lightly around the raised gold letters and wondered at the inscription"Geoffrey d' Avalon, scripsit" at the bottom of the page. A quick check of the emigrationfile showed no one by that name on the personnel manifest. He slid the sheet carefullyinto an artifact pouch, evacuated it, and placed it in the storage compartment of thequietly hovering MANIC. He grabbed the tote strap. "Here, boy!" he said, then whistledbetween his teeth. The MANIC followed with mute obedience.

After several hours of exploring and cataloguing findings, including some odd woodenframes with pegs set into them, various unusual stringed musical instruments, and anumber of strange garments made partially of steel plates or interlocking metal rings, hefinally reached the castle. "Actually," he noted to the MANIC's data recorder, "Theedifice consists of an arched entryway through an incomplete rectangular stone wallenclosing several wooden buildings and a circular stonework structure about..," heglanced at his inclinometer and made a quick mental calculation, "Ten meters high andfifteen meters in diameter." He cleared his throat with just a trace of nervousness andcontinued, "Several more of the skeletal remains seen in the outer village are presenthere, in apparently random locations." His preliminary analyses of remains had failed topinpoint any probable cause of death, but that wasn't surprising considering the age of theremains and the limited analytical capability of the survey instruments in the MANIC.There were no broken bones or punctured skulls in evidence, so he concluded thatwhatever had killed them had indeed been smaller than a timber wolf, or at least notsimilarly predaceous. He was relieved and vaguely anxious, at the same time.

He opened a door in the main building and discovered a circular platform, about half ameter high and the same in diameter, with a round hole cut neatly out of its center, leavinga ten centimeter rim around the outer perimeter. A metal cannister could be seen underthe platform, which was supported by three stone blocks. He realized with a start thatthis was a crude toilet. On a small shelf to one side was a roll of decomposing paper, ofa loosely woven, flimsy manufacture that stood in stark contrast to the finely executedhandmade papers he had found in the room with the illuminated parchment. The roughpaper was a strangely familiar muted blue color, that he couldn't exactly place.

He found even more items for his curious collection in the main room of the castle.Ornately carved and upholstered chairs, round metal table ornaments. utensils, elegantdrinking vessels, jewelry of diverse construction, and a sealed box of intact rolls of thesame pale blue paper he had found previously. His stomach told him that it was time for



lunch, so he returned to the ship, MANIC and arcane treasure in tow.

After lunch he sat contentedly at his sorting table, examining his booty under differentwavelengths of light. One of the items he had recovered was a small wooden box,locked with a tiny brass padlock. He carefully pried the hinges off of the box and opened

the lid. The box contained a rectangular object wrapped in some sort of smooth, fragilefabric which dropped away in tatters as with gloved hands he lifted the object and set it onthe table. With exaggerated care he spread the wispy fabric to reveal a number oflavishly decorated cards, each boasting a different gold-highlighted painting. He waschortling with barely repressed excitement now, as he came to realize the market valuesuch objets d = art would command on Earth. They were all hand painted on handmanufactured plaques, exquisite in every detail. No one on Earth had bothered to keepalive the techniques of hand painting, not when multidimensional graphics were merelv amatter of calling up any of several hundred thousand existing ArtiFex programs androuting the output through a decent plastigenesis unit.

He spread out the cards and picked one, at random. He turned it over after marveling fora moment at its intricately intertwined knotwork back, and was greeted by a stone columnapparently in the midst of being struck by an electrical discharge from some unseensource. Figures and debris were being flung haphazardly out in all directions from thetop of the stricken structure, as well they might. " The Tower," it read in gothic letters atthe bottom. He studied it for a moment then set it aside, strangely disturbed, andselected another card. He turned it over with less enthusiasm and a bit of apprehension.This card showed a figure prone on a bunk, partially covered with fabric, cradling its headin two gaunt hands. Nine meter-length slivers of sharply pointed metal hung suspendedabove the distressed figure. He stared dolefully at the portrait then dropped itnervelessly, uncomfortable at the obviously dolorous symbolism.

He sat staring off into space for a moment, blankly, then with a sudden resolve he pickedup the deck and rifled through it. He saw pictures of smiling men and women, dancingand celebrating gaily. There were lovers, merchants, mounted warriors, and triumphalprocessions. Reassured that there were positive images in the deck, he returned it facedown to the table and prepared to try again.

He hesitated, trying to 'feel' for the correct card, then turned over one to which his handseemed drawn. It portrayed a strangely dressed figure carrying a thin pole over oneshoulder, from which hung a small sack. An animal of the small, furry, and devotedvariety postured at the figure's feet, which were about to step over the edge of a consider-able precipice. "THE FOOL," it was labeled. He slowly returned it to its place in thedeck, puzzled and vaguely uneasy, although he had no identifiable reason to beconcerned. He went over to watch some humorous holotapes and tried to relax. A fewminutes under the neuromuscular relaxation field and he slept, unaccountably exhausted.His dreams were uneasy and distinctly foreboding.

He awoke just before planetary dusk when the ship's lights switched on. He stood upgroggy and disoriented, then felt nature's call and staggered to the toilet. After relieving



himself, he pressed the floor switch and waited for the sonic waste residue unit toactivate. It didn't. He pressed the switch again, harder, then bent down and hit itsharply with his clenched fist. Nothing happened. The red overload indicator on thestatus panel near the lav station glowed brightly. He had always meant to rewire it sothat it spelled out 'TILT,' since that was essentially what it was intended to indicate.

"Damn and damn!" he muttered under his breath. The last thing he wanted to do in hisindisposed condition was dig around in the wall circuits with a diagnostic probe. Hethought about cleansing himself with a bit of his clothing, but he was still encased in thestupid 'germ suit.' Only a field neutralizing grid, such as the one surrounding the toiletseat, could penetrate that bioprotective field while he wore the suit. Instead, he sworeenergetically.

He could reach down through that field to clean himself, he reasoned, if he could findsomething to do it with. Taking off the suit without first dealing with his problem would bea messy proposition, details of which he found it best not to contemplate. Sometimestechnology just got in its own way, he thought, "No backup system for this scenario, is

there, you CENSRAD geniuses?" He snarled derisively at the lav station mirror.About the time he was considering dismantling the nearby environmental maintenanceunit to get at its fibrous filter jackets, he remembered the sealed box of paper in the nextroom. With a sudden burst of logic, he deduced the function of the pale blue paper nextto the crude toilet. "Of course that's what it's for!" he fairly shouted, "Not a sonictransducer in the whole bloody village, was there?" He felt a pang of disdain for moderntechnology and those who live solely by its dicta. "At least," he observed wryly, "Theydidn't have to have a Level II certification in spacecraft avionics to take a dump."

The paper was in quite good shape, and it fulfilled its function admirably. His journey tothe flight deck had been a little grim, though, because the suit had sealed up the momenthe left the toilet seat, trapping the offending residue in situ , as it were, and making his half-crouched ambulation an adventure in unwanted lubrication. Once returned to his seatwith the now-precious paper, he pondered again the maddening familiarity of the bluishcolor, grasping ineffectually at some salient memory just beyond his mental reach.

He deactivated his soiled environmental suit, climbed into his favorite old coveralls, andstudied his treasures (pointedly avoiding the depressing cards) until he could stay awakeno longer.

The next morning he woke before the dawn, a persistent headache having lent a bizarretexture to his dreams, which though forgotten lingered on in a diffuse feeling of uneaseand dread. He stumbled to the command chair and pushed the timer override button onthe PLD. A ready light and the pleasant little beeping came on in about fifteen seconds,and the weak coffee dribbled out into his new cup (one of the ceramic cups from thecastle). "Damn and damn!" he croaked, "Forgot to adjust the mixture again." He tookcup in hand and plopped tiredly into the command chair. He decided to skip breakfast atthe behest of his gastrointestinal system. Feeling as though he needed to vomit, hestruggled into a fresh germ suit and returned to the castle.



The only significant find of that day was a small hand-written journal, kept by someoneapparently in a position of authority. Most of the references made no sense to him, butoccasionally there would be mention of subjects he understood, such as the status of theshipboard reactor (still functioning, he noted, so these people probably hadn't succumbed

to radiation sickness) and lists of necessary supplies. As the original stores had beendepleted, the colonists were forced to make increasing use of the native resources.Food seemed not to have been a problem-none of the remains had shown any sign ofnutritional deficiencies under his most sophisticated autopsy scanner. In fact, thecolonists seemed to have made their way with remarkably little difficulty, in all respectssave one. Every last one of them was dead. It bothered him more than he cared toadmit that he still hadn't the faintest clue why.

He spent the rest of that day trying diligently to find an answer to that question, when hewasn't on the toilet, that is. He for the first time in his life understood the simple truth inthe expression 'having the runs,' and he was not enjoying the experience. He still hadn't

located the problem with his own toilet, so he continued to make use of the salvagedpaper.

He collected, between visits to the bathroom, every scrap of human remains he couldlocate and fed them to the biomedical pathology analyzer, which received and cataloguedwithout comment the bones and mummified flesh of these 'eccentric' colonists of one andone-half centuries ago.

His condition steadily worsened, to the point where he decided to submit himself to thedegradation and damned inconvenience of a complete physical exam. The medanalysiscomputer in the infirmary told him to strip, in the tradition of examining physiciansthroughout history, then proceeded, using remotely manipulated diagnostic appendages,to probe, sense, prod, and sample him for almost an hour. He lay quietly in thesuspensor field, trying not to squirm, confronted by yet another medical tradition. "Watchwhere you're ... hey, that's cold , dammit!"

The final diagnosis by the computer was,

PROGRESSIVE COLONIC EPITHELIAL CELL EXFOLIATION WITH CONCURRENTDEHYDRATION AND ELECTROLYTE IMBALANCERECOMMENDED COURSE OF TREATMENT: MAINTAIN FLUID AND ELECTROLYTEBALANCE; NEUTRALIZE CAUSATIVE AGENT

He stared incredulously at the display for a moment. "Neutralize causative agent? Ineed a computer programmed by the Spanish Inquisition with diagnostic software worthmore than the average planet's yearly gross product to tell me that?!!" He stood very stillin front of the terminal and quivered with anger. He closed his eyes, regulated hisbreathing, and slowly unclenched his fists. Then he walked calmly over to the keyboardand typed, politely,



specify causative agent

The computer seemed to consider for a moment, then blithely reported,

MOLECULAR STRUCTURE NOT IN CATALOGUE

He stopped short and inhaled sharply, "Not in catalogue?" he breathedin disbelief and wonder. Over one hundred billion compounds were storedin that onboard database.

list analogues or related compounds

The computer again paused slightly, then answered:

POLYPEPTIDE COMPLEX WITH UNIDENTIFIABLE MOLECULAR CONSTITUENTS.APPROXIMATE MOLECULAR WETGHT 2.5 X 10 AMU. RESEMBLES CROTOXTN,

MAY BE ANALOGUE

Patiently, he called up the organic analysis program and requested the toxicologydatabase.

inquiry

COMPOUND?

crotoxin

There was a long pause, during which he imagined the computer flipping idlythrough a few billion cards in a huge index file.

COMPOUND INFORMATION REQUEST: CROTOXTNSOURCE: TERRESTRIAL TOXIC SUBSTANCES ENTRY # 2588DESCRIPTION: PRINCIPLE COMPONENT OF RATTLESNAKE (CROTALUS)

VENOM. ISOLATED C. 1956DETAILED ANALYSIS FOLLOWS

He hit the 'end session' key in disgust. "Rattlesnake venom? Where in the infinitecosmos could I possibly have picked up rattlesnake venom?"

He called up the biosciences database and selected the vertebrate specieszoogeography section.

genus crotalus

GENUS CROTALUS : SEVERAL SPECIES OF PIT VIPERS FOUND ON



EARTH, WESTERN HEMISPHERE. RELATED TOGENUS SISTRURUS , Q.V.

SPECIES ACCOUNTS FOLLOW

He switched impatiently to the comparative toxicology section.show distribution of animals producing crotoxin or analogues

CROTOXIN: PRODUCED BY TERRESTRIAL SNAKES IN THE SUBFAMILYCROTALINAE, PRINCIPALLY THE GENERA CROTALUS AND SISTRURUS ANALOGUES: RELATED COMPOUNDS SECRETED BY GIANT BLADDERWORMS(MACROCELLATA) OF γ-OPHIUCHUS II

He stared blankly at the wall and spoke quietly, as if from a great distance, "It's thirty lightyears to gamma Ophiuchus." He finally snapped back into real space and time, but before

he could pursue the giant bladderworm, of which he had never heard, he felt that oldfamiliar feeling. He almost didn't make it in time.

He spent the remainder of the day on or near the toilet, and started on his second roll ofblue paper. He wondered what he would do when the case ran out, but decided thatthere wouldn't be much left of him to wipe, by that time. For some reason, this thoughttriggered a memory of an ancient folk song he had heard a primitive recording of in hisyouth. He hummed fragments of it, but couldn't remember what it was called. Oh well,he thought, I'll think of it eventually...

He finally decided, as he continued to weaken despite massive vitamin supplements anda portable IV unit for pushing fluids and salts, to try taking rattlesnake antivenin. He wentto the organic reagent dispenser console and typed in,

synthesis feasibility inquiry

COMPOUND?

crotoxin antivenin, 20 units

ANTIVENIN, CROTALINAE, POLYVALENT FEASIBILITY STATUS: FEASIBLESYNTHESIS TIME : APPROXIMATELY SIX HOURS

PROCEED? Y OR N

yes

Five hours and forty-eight minutes..later his twenty units dripped out into a small plasticvial. The medical computer said,



INFUSE WITH SALINE AND ADD ONE STANDARD DOSE OMNIMYCIN,ADMINISTER VIA IV DRIP FOR FOUR HOURSNOTE: ANTIVENIN IS OF QUESTIONABLE THERAPEUTIC VALUE IF MORE THAN

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS HAVE ELAPSED SINCE ENVENOMATION

When the four hours were up he felt no different than before he had started the treatment,but he staggered to his feet nonetheless and tried to convince himself that the crisis waspast. He watched a few holotapes and ate a freeze-dried candy bar. He felt very tired,and dragged himself finally to bed, wondering whether he would wake up.

He did wake up, the biochronometer implant doing its job for once, and he lay quietly onhis disheveled bunk, testing his body, trying to predict how it would feel to get up out ofbed. He eventually decided to damn the torpedoes and swung his feet over the edge ofthe suspensor mattress. He was momentarily light-headed, but then the room stabilizedand he felt surprisingly well, considering his condition of late. He stood up gingerly andwaited for the floor to sink. It was a very solid floor, and when it had made no move to fall

out from under him after a minute or two, he relaxed and started to plan his day. Thingsseemed to be improving.

He was fine until, after a lunch of solid food for the first time in two days, he had to go tothe toilet. He was still producing prodigious amounts of liquid and some little blood, buthe didn't at least feel the gut-wrenching pain he had previously experienced each time hehad emptied his bowels. He absentmindedly pressed the sonic waste removal switch,more out of habit than anything, and was puzzled for a moment until he remembered thepaper. Smiling at his lapse of memory, he reached for the roll and cleaned himselfthoroughly. He even whistled a little.

About an hour later he was sitting at the work table on the flight deck, idly examining hiscollection with some idea of starting to catalogue them, when his glance fell on thewooden box. He stared at it for several minutes, dreading what he knew he was going todo, then his hand reached out for it, as if of its own volition. He folded back the brittlecloth and removed the cards. Once again he fanned them out on the table before himand closed his eyes. His fingers chose one without hesitation, and he turned it slowlyover. It showed a figure lying prostrate in a pool of dark liquid, presumably blood, withten of the sharpened metal blades protruding from its back. He stared at this apparitionin fear and anger for a brief moment, then swept the cards from the table with oneenraged swipe of his arm. He sat there shaking, restraining the sudden unexplainableurge to cry. Finally the effort proved too much for him; big streaming tears ran wetlydown his face and splashed silently onto the table. Much later he fell asleep, head onfolded arms. His dreams were grotesque, tormenting monsters that leapt at him fromredly pulsing cards, yielding terrible bright weapons of steel.

He awoke with a pressing need to relieve himself and struggled to his feet. He took twosteps in the direction of the toilet and suddenly the floor leapt at him in. earnest. Hewilled his arms to extend themselves and cushion his fall, but they were deeply asleep



and refused his bidding. He therefore landed rather hard, scraping his right cheekroughly on an equipment station support tongue, and lay there for a long moment, toostunned to move. Finally he made an attempt to struggle the rest of the way to hisdestination, but his sphincter muscles were tired of the uneven struggle and surrenderedto incontinence. He collapsed onto his forehead and lay there whimpering feverishly, as

he fouled himself and the floor.It took about fifteen minutes for him to be able to rally enough courage and strength to getup. The increasingly uncomfortable state of his posterior region was at least partiallyresponsible for his return to action. He ripped off his cherished coveralls and tossedthem summarily into the disposal unit, not without a pang of regret. He touched a seriesof buttons on a panel near the door and the floor panels underneath his refuse glowedmomentarily, then faded, leaving behind a thin layer of ash. He picked up the cards andother objects from the floor, then hit another button. A sudden thin sheet of high velocitygas streamed across the floor, carrying the ash with it as it whooshed out through smallvents on the bottom of the far wall.

Later that evening he began to pass noticeable traces of fresh blood. The flow increasedwith time, and he mused grimly that this must be what menstruation was like. He wasdecidedly weaker by the next morning, and he realized that he was running out of timeand options.

He decided to put the computers to work again. Damn little use they would be to anyoneif he died out here. He tied all satellite data systems into the mainframe and brought thePrincipal Analysis Program to bear on his problem. It would retrieve, correlate, andanalyze all available data relevant to his condition, at considerable expense to all otherinstrumentation and power systems, in a last ditch effort to save his hide.

RETRIEVAL COMPLETE.FUNCTION? multiple factors analysisMULTIPLE FACTORS ANALYSIS SELECTED.UTILIZATION FACTOR? 100100 PERCENT UTILIZATION REQUESTED. **WARNING** TOTAL COMMITMENTRENDERS ALL DATA SYSTEMS USER INACCESSIBLE UNTIL ANALYSIS ISCOMPLETED. AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED. ENTER CODE WITHIN FIFTEENSECONDS.

ce-es2-00a

CODE ACCEPTED. TOTAL COMMITMENT OPTION SELECTED.

The entire ship seemed to shudder. All ancillary displays and systems went to standbyas all instrument power was diverted to the central processing circuits.

He made his way to the toilet and sat there, waiting. He had little will left for anythingelse. He leaned back against the thinly padded panel above and behind the toilet



assembly and closed his eyes, fighting off vertigo and nausea. He listened to theunnatural silence of the ship around him, stilled by the diversion of the vessel's life bloodto the computer. A cold fear crept over him as he began to consider the very realpossibility that he could die before the computer could finish its analysis. There was noguarantee that even the PAP could come up with anything to save him.

The prospect of his death, here, on a planet about which he knew next to nothing,seemed somehow especially wrong to him. He tried to remember what little he hadnoticed about the planet on the trip in. The planet was rather small, green and white, andhad the most interesting oceans he had seen in a long while. They were apparentlypossessed of a high concentration of magnesium and copper, which lent to them a verystriking greenish hue, as richly green as the oceans of Earth were blue. He hadn'tinvestigated the coloration any further, because the computer had not deemed itthreatening or otherwise noteworthy. He decided that he was beginning to rely too muchon the damned computer, at the expense of his own formerly considerable scientificcuriosity. Interest in his surroundings had slowly eroded into blind trust of his array of

sensors and probes, which were supposed to be extensions of his own senses, notreplacement s for them, he reminded himself.

He had noted the usual physiographic features as the ship descended: land masses,mountains, plains, forests, and bodies of water. All standard fare forcivilian-colony-approved planets. The ship had been guided by the computer over anarrow belt of trees which bordered the settlement to the southeast; bizarre trees withsmooth silvery bark and, as revealed in one smoothly couped trunk, unexpectedly paleblue wood. The same pale blue as the paper....

Finally understanding why that shade of blue had seemed familiar to him was a relief,trivial though the knowledge might be in his present situation. He reasoned that thecolonists must have used up their stock of paper and begun manufacturing their own frompulp derived from the silvery trees. They hadn't bothered too much with high qualitymanufacture, but what was the point in making tightly-woven bond for use as toilet paper?It would probably be less absorbent, anyway. He was forming a solid admiration forthese resourceful and talented people who not only disdained computers and technology,but got along perfectly well without them. Well, except for one problem, perfectly well.

He drifted in and out of delirium for an infinity. He fell from a vivid dream of large,blubbery creatures in colorful ballerina outfits (from an ancient holotape he had onceseen) into sudden, crisp lucidity. He opened his eyes and looked around with eyessharply in focus, alert to the smallest details, as if he were examining the universe for thefirst time. His gaze came to rest on the roll of paper by his right hand, and he begansoftly to chuckle. He saw tiny yellow faces, each wearing a bright smile, rise up from thepaper and swirl around in the air before his face, joining into short chains whichsometimes closed, forming small circles which floated lazily through the ceiling when hetried to follow their paths with his eyes. He laughed out loud at this phantasmagoria andthought about a chemist: a man who, centuries before, had deciphered the structure ofthe benzene molecule by dreaming about six carbon atoms, which linked together into the



now-familiar circular molecule in his nocturnal vision. Or so the story went.

There didn't seem to be anything particularly relevant about smiley faces, however, so heclosed his eyes and tried to ignore them, fearing vaguely for his sanity. The faces werestill there, in his mind's eye. No, they weren't faces any longer, just little groups of

concentric rings that he abruptly recognized as ion crystallographic images of atoms.This was going to be a revelation of some sort, he thought; it's a pity it has to be so trite.The first images to appear he decided were carbon atoms. They wheeled and whirled ina spectral ballet across his circumambient mental stage, some of them metamorphosinginto other elements: nitrogen, oxygen, sulfur, then hydrogen. This was beginning toresemble some extremely well-orchestrated organic chemistry lecture. He wondered ifevery sentient being, upon the hour of its death, were treated to a similarly animatedvision.

The images were following an increasingly complex alchemical choreography, groups joining with other groups, twisting around themselves, spiraling into helices, then folding

back upon themselves into more complicated patterns, which linked with other suchcreations to form even higher ordered structures. The sheer poetry of it all wasoverwhelming to him; it seemed to him an important and previously unimagined synthesisof art and science. He thought about how he would report it to CENSRAD:

TO: THE CENTER FOR SPACE RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENTFROM: EXPLORATIONS SCIENTIST II GERRAN SYMONSPRESENT ASSIGNMENT: INVESTIGATION OF COLONY JS42719-13STATUS: FINAL REPORTDETAILS FOLLOW

HONORED DOCTORS,AM SITTING ON MY HOPELESSLY CLOGGED WASTE REMOVAL UNITWATCHING THE RISE AND FALL OF BIOCHEMISTRY. MY COMPUTERS AREBUSILY CONTEMPLATING THEIR EVENTUAL POWER DEATH AFTER I AM NOTHERE TO RECYCLE THEIR REACTOR. HAVING A WONDERFUL TIME, WISHANYTHEHELLBODY ELSE WERE HERE. MUST TERMINATE REPORT NOW, AS IWANT TO CATCH THE OPENING OF THE NEXT SHOW. SOMETHING ABOUTPROTEINS ON BROADWAY.

NO LONGER YOURS,

G.S., ESII

Proteins on Broadway. He snickered at the reaction that would surely provoke back atCENSRAD. "Yes," he continued, out loud, "I've been wiping my butt with smiley faceswhich turn out to be Thespians Extraordinaire, song and dance atoms of the highestcaliber. Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting the incomparable Polly and the amazingPeptides...



Throughout his recent musings, he had been aware of a nagging feeling of having missedsomething; this blossomed now into full scale how-could-I-have-been-so-stupidrevelation. With a hoarse whisper intended as a shout of triumph, he fell forward onto hisknees and crawled painfully over to the materials analysis substation, paper roll in hand.He tore off a piece, wadded it up, and tossed it weakly into the receptacle. He reached

up, with effort, as if he were trying to change a light bulb in the ceiling while standing ontiptoe, and hit the ANALYZE button with the heel of his hand. He stopped moving for amoment to keep the room from spinning too violently, then dragged himself over to thecomputer console. He crawled very gingerly, to reduce his intense desire to loseconsciousness.

He willed himself to stand, but the muscles required would not respond. He tried pullinghimself up by grasping the edge of the console, but he was too weak. He knelt there,panting, maddeningly unable to reach the keyboard which seemed his only chance forsurvival. In inspired desperation he picked up a shoe and heaved it toward the house-keeping control panel. It fell short and bounced into the adjacent room. He located the

other shoe, after a brief, frantic search, and took careful aim. With an effort that left himexhausted and trembling, he flung the shoe in a soaring arc. It reached apogee andseemed to fall toward the panel very slowly, as if the density of the air had suddenlyincreased a hundredfold. After what he imagined were eons, the shoe finally struck,depressing several buttons as it did so. The floor began to glow in several spots, one ofthem under his left knee. His pants and outer layers of skin charred instantly, but thepain enabled him to leap to his feet long enough to catch himself on the edge of theconsole and lock his elbows. He reached up with his traumatized knee and hit the chairrelease button. The swivel chair emerged from beneath a floor panel and he fell heavilyinto it. His sorely injured knee sent waves of pain through him, a teeth-grinding agonythat shot through every sensate cubic centimeter of his body. He bit through his upper lipas he typed in the command to append new data. Nothing happened. Puzzled, hecalled up the biosciences database to find out more about the giant bladderworm. Noresponse. He hit the master override key, in growing alarm and frustration. Stillnothing. In one awful moment, he remembered the total commitment option. This wasthe last straw, the final indignity, he thought bitterly.

Despite years of training in observation and procedure, he had made an embarrassinglyobvious connection between the blue paper and his medical problem too late. The onlything which had penetrated his bioshield had been the paper. He had been unforgivablysloppy; he hadn't analyzed the paper for anything, not even gross contamination. Hehad quite probably introduced the agent of his own demise. He had to admit, there wasa certain poetic justice here.

The room began to blur around the edges as he slipped into comatose oblivion. Hishead slid forward and he hit the keyboard with his forehead. Still possessed of amarginal awareness, he had the surreal impression that the keyboard had materializedsuddenly and maliciously a few microns from his nose. He stared at it obtusely, too closeto actually focus on it. After a few seconds he became dimly aware of a diffuse greenishglow coming from somewhere above his eyelashes. With great effort he twisted his



head to the left, so that his angle of vision shifted upwards. He squinted, then began tomake out words printed on the screen. This is no big deal, he thought, there are almostalways words being displayed on a monitor screen while a computer is running a normalroutine... He realized that any readout on this particular screen by this particular computerwas vastly significant, and forced himself into a relatively alert state. He saw a string of

seemingly unconnected statements, then remembered the various abortive commandshe had issued while the PAP had control of the system:

MULTIPLE FACTORS ANALYSTS COMPLETE+++INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR PROXIMATE RESOLUTION ...

COMMAND OVERRIDE ACCEPTEDBIOSCIENCES DATABASE, VERSION 2363.5FUNCTION?

He stared at the screen for a minute or two, trying to force comprehension into his neural

pathways. Eventually he watched as one finger slowly typed ingeneral zoology section

inquiry: giant bladderworm

GIANT BLADDERWORM: VERNACULAR DESIGNATION FOR BLADDER-LIKEORGANISMS FOUND IN TEMPERATE WETLAND HABITATSON γOPHIUCHUS II. ACTUALLY STAGES IN THE DECAY OFMACROUNICELLULAR PLANTS OF THE GENUS MACROCELLATA INFESTED WITHTHE PANSPERMIC VIROID TRANSMOGRUS , WHICH PRODUCES VARIOUSPROTEIN-BASED VIROTOXINS DURING THE DIGESTION OF GENETIC MATERIALIN PLANTS AND PLANT-LIKE ORGANISMS. ESTIMATED RESPONSIBLE FOR THECREATION OF OVER 10^5 NEW ORGANIC COMPOUNDS EVERY SOLAR DAYWITHIN THE CONFINES OF THE EXPLORED GALAXY.

He reached across the console and pressed the instrument data input button. The datatransfer link between the materials analyzer and the computer blinked rapidly. Thescreen flared after a furious moment of transmission and assimilation,

DATA RECEIVED

He typed unsteadily,

append last input to MFA; run

After a few seconds of activity, a message appeared. It tookconsiderable effort for him to focus on and actually comprehend it,

***REVISION TO PROXIMATE SOLUTION***



PROXIMATE SOLUTION REACHED, DETAILS FOLLOW

TOXIN IS POLYPEPTIDE WITH TWO ACTIVE MOIETIES. TOXIC FRACTION MAYBE NEUTRALIZED WITH BIVALENT CATIONIC BINDER. SITE OF MOST

EFFECTIVE TREATMENT IS DESCENDING COLON.RECOMMENDED AGENT: WHEAT BRAN/LEGUMINOUS PROTEIN COLLOIDALMATRIX. PREFERRED ROUTE: ORAL INGESTION. ENTER "MFA PROCEED" FORSYNTHETIC PREPARATION OF AGENT.

He shrugged, weakly, and followed the instructions. It took him three times to reproducethe necessary command, but he finally got it right. After about two minutes the dietarypreparation module produced a small, rectangular covered dish. He lifted the cover anddiscovered two slices of a brownish bread enclosing a layer of viscous material with anodd odor to it. He sniffed tentatively at the thing, then took a small bite. He found it

difficult to chew, but fairly pleasant tasting. It took him about fifteen minutes to consumethe entire sandwich, but at last he finished and, still chewing, crawled back over to thetoilet.

It seemed to tower above him like some mighty mountain peak, and he realized thatactually propelling himself up onto that lofty seat in his condition would be a feat roughlyequivalent to escaping the planet's gravitational pull on horseback. He contentedhimself therefore with collapsing noisily in front of it; as it happened, on the sonic cleanserswitch. A small metallic ring, about one centimeter in diameter, popped out from underthe switch and clattered across the floor. The cleanser hummed into life. He smiledfaintly as the irony of the event registered itself in his rapidly fading consciousness. Thering which had disabled his high-tech toilet and very nearly himself was one of thehand-forged links from the strange colonial garments he had salvaged. A last swipe, asit were, at the modern world by a group which chose to secede from it. Acknowledgingthe intrinsic paradox of existence in this least possible of all impossible universes, heslept.

A sudden shift in the footing of the ship jolted the sorting table. From it flutterd abeautifully painted plaque, which landed with a soft ploof on the clean steel floor. On itwas a circular structure, surrounded by a number of figures and objects. Below it was acaption, which read, "THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. The fall and impact proved too muchfor a small section of the paint decorating the plaque, and the pigment on that cornerflaked away, revealing a familiar pale blue beneath.

Around the corner in the command cabin, a small white cube began softly to steam.