Quest for the Well of Souls - Jack L. Chalker [9]
But her life had been ten normal ones, and rough as no one person should ever have to endure. No wonder she was bitter, no wonder she was unable to relate much to other people.
How Ortega longed to talk to her, to reveal to her her true history and heritage, which he alone completely knew—but he couldn't. He couldn't be sure of its effect on her, and he needed her to remain as tough, nasty, and self-confident as she was. She needed that strength to survive, and he would need it if he ever needed her.
He checked the sheet.
"Subject was given annual check by Dr. Quozoni 13/12," it read. "Had minor skin and dysentery problems from not taking proper care of herself, easily correctable. Although a balanced diet is mandated, subject tends to obesity, apparently from unauthorized foodstuffs. Her apparent obesity is aggravated by permanent curvature of the spine resulting from body adjustments to the deformities and from the fact that breasts and fat hang as dead weight. However, overweight is not considered serious enough to jeopardize life as yet. Major organs in excellent shape considering the obesity, probably from the forced heavy exercise she gets when walking. Hearing has deteriorated with age, but normally and not seriously, considering that she started with above-normal acuity. Eyesight, which is not a serious factor considering her condition, is far above Type 41 norm at night but very poor in daylight, partially a result of her adopting a nocturnal schedule. Thankfully, aging has brought on nearsightedness, which does not warrant correction considering her three-meter maximum range due to head limitations.
"Mental state appears to be continuing in that odd new track. There have been no attempts at escape in the past eleven years, which had us worried; but she also seems to have developed a total alienation from humanity. She can no longer even conceive of herself as anything but what she is. To watch her one would swear that she is, indeed, a truly natural creature. Recently she has taken an abnormal interest in biology and genetic structure and has talked of founding a race. We find that optimistic, and yet psychologically and scientifically intriguing. Of course, she had herself sterilized at an early age, but this blossoming maternal interest and the continuing relationship between her and Joshi bears watching. One cannot but think of the possibilities of designing a part of one hex, either Glathriel or Olborn—which owes it to her—into an ecosystem in which such creatures as she would survive on their own. We are sufficiently indebted to her that we are looking into this."
Ortega looked away from the sheet, reflecting. Odd how she was changing, yet, somehow, still in character. Escape—even if it could be attained—was futile: where could she go and for how long could she survive on her own? So she'd turned to a different form of coping, a dream of founding a race of her own kind designed, like a minihex, for its physical requirements. If it could be done, Ortega decided, it would be.
He sighed, filed the report without reading the rest, and pulled out a communications device from a drawer with his middle right hand.
It was on an odd circuit, and so could not easily be intercepted, he felt, by anyone else. The office itself was debugged daily, so he was confident about its security. The line went directly from his office across to the other side of Zone, to the embassy of Oolakash, deep in the Overdark Ocean.
The connection buzzed a number of times, and, for a moment, he felt that he'd picked the wrong time. But, finally, he heard a click, and a hollow, high-pitched voice answered him via a translator. What with the water, the connection, and the double translator, it sounded eerie, as though made by an electronic instrument, yet it was intelligible. He wondered what he sounded like to the Oolakash.
"Tagadal," said that voice.
Ortega smiled. "Tag? Ortega. I have a little ecology problem for you to run through Obie, and a genetic question,