Green Mars - Kim Stanley Robinson [8]
• • •
Extra visitors were a burden now, but still when they came there was a lot of excitement, and many people stayed up most of the first night of a visit, talking, getting all the news they could of the other sanctuaries. There was a whole network of these in the south polar region; Nirgal had a map in his lectern, with red dots to show all thirty-four. And Nadia and Hiroko guessed that there were more, in other networks to the north, or in complete isolation. But as they all kept radio silence, there was no way to be sure. So news was at a premium— it was usually the most precious thing that visitors had, even if they came laden with gifts, which they usually did, giving out whatever they had managed to make or obtain that their hosts would find useful.
During these visits Nirgal would listen hard to the nights’ long animated conversations, sitting on the floor or wandering and refilling people’s teacups. He felt acutely that he did not understand the rules of the world; it was inexplicable to him why people acted as they did. Of course he did understand the basic fact of the situation— that there were two sides, locked in a contest for control of Mars— that Zygote was the leader for the side that was right— and that eventually the areophany would triumph. It was a tremendous feeling to be involved in that struggle, to be a crucial part of the story, and it often left him sleepless when he dragged off to bed, his mind dancing through to dawn with visions of all he would contribute to this great drama, amazing Jackie and everyone else in Zygote.
Sometimes, in his desire to learn more, he even eavesdropped. He did it by lying on a couch in the corner and staring at a lectern, doodling or pretending to read. Quite often people elsewhere in the room didn’t realize he was listening, and sometimes they would even talk about the children of Zygote— mostly when he was actually skulking out in the hall.
“Have you noticed most of them are left-handed?”
“Hiroko tweaked their genes, I swear.”
“She says not.”
“They’re already almost as tall as I am.”
“That’s just the gravity. I mean look at Peter and the rest of the nisei. They’re natural-born, and they’re mostly tall. But the left-handedness, that’s got to be genetic.”
“Once she told me there was a simple transgenic insertion that would increase the size of the corpus callosum. Maybe she fooled with that and got the left-handedness as a side effect.”
“I thought left-handedness was caused by brain damage.”
“No one knows. I think even Hiroko is mystified by it.”
“I can’t believe she would mess with the chromosomes for brain development.”
“Ectogenes, remember— better access.”
“Their bone density is poor, I hear.”
“That’s right. They’d be in trouble on Earth. They’re on supplements to help.”
“That’s the g again. It’s trouble for all of us, really.”
“Tell me about it. I broke my forearm swinging a tennis racket.”
“Left-handed giant bird-people, that’s what we’re growing down here. It’s bizarre, if you ask me. You see them running across the dunes and expect them to just take off and fly.”
That night Nirgal had the usual trouble sleeping. Ectogenes, transgenic . . . it made him feel odd. White and green in their double helix. . . . For hours he tossed, wondering what the uneasiness twisting through him meant, wondering what he should feel.
Finally, exhausted, he fell asleep. And in his sleep he had a dream. All his dreams before that night had been about Zygote, but now he dreamed that he flew in the air, over the surface of Mars. Vast red canyons cut the land, and volcanoes reared nearly to his unimaginable height. But something was after him, something much bigger and faster than him, with wings that flapped loudly as the creature dropped out of the sun, with huge talons that extended toward him. He pointed at this flying creature and bolts of lightning shot out of his fingertips,