This Alien Shore by C.S. Friedman Read Free Book Online Page B

was digesting Masada’s statement, perhaps even running it through his brainware to isolate the cause of his objection. At last he said, “It was assumed that you would come to the outworlds. An investigation like this can hardly be managed with a sizable time lag in communication.”
    He said it quietly, firmly: “I have never left Guera.”
    The Guildsman spread his hands as if in offering. “Then this is a very special opportunity, Dr. Masada. One long overdue, for a theorist of your stature.”
    Leave Guera. He’d considered it before, when professional opportunities beckoned, but each time he had chosen to stay where he was. It was the easier course. More comfortable. Safer. Could the nantana understand that? Or would Masada have to find words to express his misgiving, to give it parameters?”
    After a very long silence, he dared, “You’re asking me to work among aliens.”
    The Guildsman drew in a sharp breath. “If you mean the Hausman Variants, let me remind you that you are one, Dr. Masada. As am I. The fact that our ancestors didn’t suffer from any somatic distortion doesn’t mean they weren’t altered. You of all people should know that.”
    He shook his head, frustrated by the man’s lack of understanding. “I didn’t mean that. You should know I didn’t mean that.” Now it was his turn to lean forward on the table, not because it felt natural to him—such posturing never did—but because he knew intellectually that it would give his words more weight. “Must I remind you how the Terrans feel about my kaja? The very cognitive style which makes me so valuable on Guera is considered ‘abnormal’ among those people. They did everything they could to eradicate it from their gene pool, and if by some unlucky chance it surfaces now despite those efforts, they use drugs or DNA therapy to ‘correct’ it. Even if the price of that correction is the crippling of a mind, the death of a unique human soul. These are the people you want me to work among? The Terrans are more alien to me than any Hausman Variants ever could be. And you know they dominate the outworlds.”
    â€œDr. Masada.” The Guildsman’s tone had changed in some subtle way, but Masada lacked the skill to interpret it. “You’re a Holist—some say the father of Holism. Don’t you want to see the outworlds for yourself? You’ve been theorizing about the outernet for years; don’t you want to experience it for yourself, just once? I’m offering you that opportunity. Can you look at me and honestly say that it has no appeal?”
    When Masada said nothing, he reached into a fold of his sleeve and brought forth a small data chip. “We ask only that you look at this.” He slid the chip across the table until it was within Masada’s reach. “No more.” Through its thin cover the spectral shimmer of a storage disk could be seen. “It contains a copy of the virus we isolated, as well as our offer. We ask only that you consider both before you make your final decision.”
    For a moment Masada said nothing. Did nothing. Then, very slowly, he reached out and took the small chip in his hand. Tiny words shimmered on its surface, along with an icon meant to trigger defensive programs in any equipment reading it. WARNING, it said. GRADE A CONTAGIOUS MATERIAL. LEVEL 1 PRECAUTIONS REQUIRED. He considered for a moment, then said, “I’ll need a copy of the code it was embedded in.”
    The Guildsman scowled, and for a moment Masada thought he might refuse his request. He had, after all, asked for a copy of one of the Guild’s most secret programs. Never mind that the request was a valid one; it was also a test of how much they trusted him, and how much they wanted him on this project.
    For a long minute the Guildsman said nothing, merely gazed at him through narrowed eyes as if that