Providence - Max Barry Page 0,24
gene pool. I did it for the health plan.”
“Well, it’s cute that you think that,” Gilly said. “But you don’t have as much free will as you think. Every time we think we’re choosing to be selfless, or noble, or doing our patriotic duty, or sacrificing ourselves for our kids, we’re really obeying a hardwired genetic instinct. We wrap it up in a nice story, but it’s just biology. The closer any two people are genetically, the more likely one is to make sacrifices for the other. The same goes for animals. And salamanders.” Results from the scans began to fill his board. “I mean, fundamentally, the war isn’t even between people and salamanders. It’s between human genes and salamander genes. They’re just using us to fight it, as their throwaway survival machines.”
“Let’s put a pin in this fascinating philosophical discussion,” Jackson said. “We’re mid-engagement.”
“Body part appears to be part of the hind quarters of a standard soldier class,” Gilly said. He couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Doesn’t appear to be anything new.”
“Then what’s moving?”
“There’s a puncture in the surrounding resin. The material inside is escaping chaotically under pressure.”
“All right,” Jackson said. “So it’s a leaking body part. Let’s get this bus moving.”
“Not pregnant?” said Beanfield. “No baby salamanders?”
“No.” He hesitated. “Although . . . this could be how they do it.”
“Do what?”
“Learn. They could create a store and recover it later.”
“A store of what?”
“Knowledge. Memories. Other species use pheromones for communication. Hive species, like ants. They excrete a chemical composition that encodes information about what they’ve experienced, which others can read later. It could be like that.”
“Explain that better,” Beanfield said, “for those of us in the Humanities.”
“It’s possible that salamanders generate pheromones during their attack to record their actions. Where they went. How long they survived. If other salamanders can recover those, they could reconstruct a pretty good battle record.”
“So they learn to anticipate the pulse?”
“Exactly. Salamanders that turned at the right time would record a longer survival time.”
“Huh,” Beanfield said. “You’re a real nerd, Gilly.”
“It’s just a theory,” he said modestly. He was sure he was right.
“Ship is getting anxious,” Jackson said.
“One minute. I want to confirm this.” He began sifting through the data, looking for chemical signatures. Then zeroes flooded his readouts. The ship had pulsed, reducing everything to ash.
“We’re moving,” Jackson said. “Sorry, Intel. Ship got impatient. Weapons, status? Anders?”
There was a pause. It had been a while since Anders had chimed in, Gilly realized.
“Anders is off-comms and dark on ping,” Beanfield said.
“Pardon me?” Jackson said.
“I think he left station. A while ago.”
“Hive reduced to sub-gram particles,” Gilly said, to fill the silence. “Nothing left out there now.”
“End engagement,” Jackson said, and signed off.
“Engagement closed,” Gilly said.
* * *
—
An hour later, Beanfield called in over comms to ask if he’d seen Anders. Gilly was in his cabin, working his board. “No,” he said. He’d assumed Anders was being torn a new butthole by Jackson. “Want me to locate him?” In an emergency, he could force a ping from any film, even if Anders was trying to stay dark.
“Could you maybe just take a wander around the places you guys usually hang, see if he’s there? I don’t want to make it into a big deal.”
“I’m kind of busy.”
“With what?”
“I’m writing up my pheromone theory.”
“Can that wait?”
“Well,” he said, trying to think how to say, No, Beanfield, it’s a groundbreaking discovery.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.”
He took a breath. “I’ll try to look up Anders.”
“He’s been taking VZ hard,” Beanfield said. “Harder than the rest of us.”
“I hear you.” He was sure Anders was going to be fine. At this moment, Gilly was far more interested in getting his theory into a document before anyone else came up with