Part 27 (1/2)
”Why . . . why're we so valuable?”
He gestured, a handsweep that pointed from her feet to her hair. ”You're gross and overgrown, but quite a bit similar to us. We can identify with you. There's entertainment in your strivings, a surcease from boredom.”
”But you said -- illegal?”
”When a race such as yours reaches a certain stage, there are . . . liberties we do not permit. We've had to exterminate certain races, severely punish a few Chem.”
”But what . . . liberties?”
”Never mind.” Kelexel turned his back on her. It seemed obvious she spoke from actual ignorance. Under such manipulator pressure she could hardly lie or dissemble.
Ruth stared at Kelexel's back. For long days now, a question had been creeping upward in her mind. The answer felt deeply important now. ”How old are you?” she asked.
Slowly, Kelexel rotated on one heel, studied her. It took a moment to overcome the distaste aroused by such a gauche question, then: ”How could that possibly bear on anything that concerns you?”
”It . . . I want to know.”
”The actual duration -- that's not important. But a hundred such worlds as yours, perhaps many more, could've come into being and dissolved to dust since my conception. Now, tell me why you want to know.”
”I . . . just want to know.” She tried to swallow in a dry throat ”How . . . how do you . . . preserve . . .”
”Rejuvenation!” He shook his head. What a distasteful subject. The native female was truly barbaric.
”The woman Ynvic,” Ruth said, sensing his emotional disturbance and enjoying it. ”She's called the s.h.i.+psurgeon. Does she supervise the . . .”
”It's routine! Purely routine. We've elaborate protective mechanisms and devices that prevent anything but minor damage. A s.h.i.+psurgeon takes care of the minor damage. Very rare, that. We can take care of our own regenerative and rejuvenating treatments. Now, you will tell me why you ask.”
”Could I . . . we . . .”
”Oh, ho!” Kelexel threw his head back in a bark of laughter. Then: ”You must be a Chem and conditioned for the process from birth or it cannot be done.”
”But . . . you're like us. You . . . breed.”
”Not with you, my dear pet. We're pleasurably similar, that I admit. But with you it's dalliance, insulation from boredom, no more. We Chem cannot breed with any other . . .” He broke off, stared at her, remembering a conversation with Ynvic. They'd been discussing the native violence, wars.
”It's a built-in valving system to keep down the immunes,” Ynvic had said.
”The conflicts?”
”Of course. A person immune to our manipulations tends to become generally dissatisfied, frustrated. Such creatures welcome violence and disregard personal safety. The attrition rate among them is very high.”
Remembering Ynvic's words, Kelexel wondered: Is it possible? No! It couldn't be! Gene samples from these natives were on record long ago. I've seen them myself. But what if . . . No! There's no way. But it would be so simple: falsify the gene sample. s.h.i.+psurgeon Ynvic! But if she did, why? Kelexel shook his head. The whole idea was preposterous. Even Fraffin wouldn't dare breed a planet full of half-Chem. The immune ratio would give him away before . . . But there's always the ”valving system.”
”I will see Fraffin now,” Kelexel muttered.
And he remembered: ”Ynvic was referring to native immunes, but she said person.”
15.