Metamorphosis by mosylu

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The air tasted strange.

That was the first thing Trent Sadler noticed as he wheeled his son’s chair down the gangplank. The air flooded into his lungs, cool and somehow thick. He felt in his pocket for his son’s inhaler.

"Wow," his son whispered, a little wheeze in his voice. "Oh wow."

Trent crouched. "Son," he said, holding up the inhaler.

Max sighed deeply, but opened his mouth for the medicine. Trent listened to his breathing, wondering if that landing had done permanent damage. The doctor in their pod had looked all the children over and cleared them to go outside, but what if something had broken inside Max that the diaglove hadn’t picked up on?

And this alien air, it didn’t feel like air at all. It hadn’t been filtered, treated, heated, or cooled. It couldn’t be good for Max to breathe this stuff.

"Dad," Max said, "Look at the sky. Look."

"Mmm," he said. Where was a doctor when you needed one? He stood up, looking around. Every doctor he could see was involved with a child already. Even the nurses were busy. He might have to settle for a medtech.

A sharp whistle cut through the babble, and Max cried, "Look, it’s Uly’s mom!"

Trent straightened, his heart thudding. It was Devon, standing on a slight rise. Even though her clothes were well-worn and the sun had darkened her skin, she still looked fit and beautiful. "Thanks," she said to a huge man to one side of her, who stood with his arms around two kids. "Can everyone hear me? Everyone? How about in the back? Can you all see me?"

General noises of assent answered her.

"Good." She laughed a little. "I’m used to addressing a group of fifteen. This is going to take a little adjustment." She spread her arms wide. "Welcome to G889. This isn’t a VR, this isn’t a dream, this is home."

Trent started clapping, and a few others followed suit. She waited until it died out to continue. "I know to you it’s only been a few days since we left the stations. For us in Eden Advance, though, it’s been two years, filled with adjustments, hard work, and unexpected challenges. But they’ve also been full of discovery and wonder. I think it’s safe to say those two years have changed us forever."

The advance group, spaced around her, exchanged glances and grins.

Her face fell into serious lines. "You all knew my son Uly. He was eight when we left. No Syndrome child has ever lived past the age of nine."

Trent felt his heart go cold. Was she going to say that she had lost Uly? That even leaving everything behind and bringing him to this place hadn’t done any good? He put his hand on Max’s head, the metal of his son’s headpiece cold under his palm.

"Uly, honey, come here."

The smaller of the two children with the huge man stepped away and climbed the rise. She put her hands on his narrow shoulders and turned him to face the crowd. "This is Uly today."

A deep, deep silence fell, broken only by the hish of wind through the long grass. Trent couldn’t tear his eyes from the child she held close. He was afraid to blink, just in case it was an illusion.

The Uly he’d known had been tiny, pale, and barely strong enough to walk a block on his own. This boy was tanned and smiling, his tumbled curls shining golden-brown in the son. He was thin, true, but it was the wiry, leggy look of a growing boy.

A normal, healthy, growing boy.

"My son is ten," she said, and the dazzling smile broke out again. "He was born with the Syndrome, and he’s ten."

Uly twisted around to look up at his mother. "Mo-om. Ten and a half."

As if his petulant correction had broken a spell, laughter erupted, and then cheers. Next to Trent, Maggie Shaw burst into tears, and her husband put his arms around her.

A small hand tugged at his shirt. "Dad? Am I going to be like that in two years? Huh?"

"Yes," Trent vowed, kissing the top of his head. "I swear, Max, you will." The thin, thready hope that had pulled him away from the stations had just bloomed. It could happen. A Syndrome child could live. Not the limp-along existence their children had been doomed to since their diagnosis, but real, glowing, growing life.

"New Pacifica is about two and a half kilometers to the northeast," Devon said once the celebration had died down. "The ground is too uneven for chairs, so the Syndrome children are going to ride in the Transrovers. We may have to make a couple of trips, but everything is ready and waiting for you once you get to town."

The group's silence broke up into excited babbling. Trent glanced around. "Max, I'll be right back." He stepped away to find a doctor, but the best he could do was a harried nurse who promised to get to Max next. Well, it was better than nothing. Biting back a sigh, he returned to find the huge man who had stood at Devon's side crouched in front of his son's chair.

"Hey, buddy. I got a seat in that Transrover all ready for you, what do you say?"

"It's way high up," Max said doubtfully.

"Yeah, you bet. You can see everything." The man grinned and held out his arms. "Come on, you know you want to."

"Excuse me!" Trent interrupted. "Are you a medical professional?"

The huge man spared him a glance. "No, but I am an experienced father." He pointed at a skinny girl loading bags into the big transport. "That’s her over there, if you wanna check my credentials."

Of course, his child was healthy, and always had been. The sour puddle of envy settling in his stomach was so familiar Trent barely noticed it. "Look, my son is a Syndrome child," he said, dropping a protective hand to Max's frail shoulder. "You can’t sling him around like--"

"A kid?"

Trent took in his breath through his nose. "Thank you for trying to help," he said evenly, "but I would feel more comfortable with someone who’s trained in handling children like Max."

The man straightened up, hooking his hands in his back pockets. "Whatever you say," he said, his eyes cool. "I’ll get Julia over here. That’s Dr. Julia Heller. She’s trained." He glanced down at Max and, before Trent could do anything about it, gave his hair a ruffle. "Next time, buddy."

The woman who came didn't look very much like a doctor, dressed in patched pants and a faded shirt instead of a pristine lab coat. But she took Max's vitals with cheerful competency. "Good numbers," she told him. "Let's get you into that Transrover."

The big vehicle was another shock. They had made some attempt at comfort by lining the bed with blankets and cushions, but those couldn't disguise the fact that this was a cargo vehicle, not a passenger one. "Excuse me," Trent said. "Isn't there something--safer? There aren't any restraints in that thing--"

The big man, swinging himself up into one of the side-along cargo bins, gave him a disgusted look. "How fast do you think we'll be going, buddy?"

Trent's eyes narrowed. "My son is very delicate--"

"Trust me when I say, you could walk faster than this."

Before Trent could formulate a properly scathing reply, Dr. Heller cut in. "Danziger's right. The Rover's top speed isn't very fast, and it's barely two and a half klicks to New Pacifica. A lot of parents are riding with their children. If you'd feel safer--"

"Yes," Trent said. "Yes, I would."

He had to crawl up the fat tire, his slick-soled shoes slipping on the rubber. Danziger didn't offer to help, but instead hoisted children into the cargo bin, teasing them and pointing out how far they could see from their height. They giggled or stared, completely comfortable with this rough-handed giant. Well, children didn't always know what was good for them.

Trent got Max settled into a corner, wrapping a blanket around his legs. "How do you feel, son?"

"M'okay," Max said, staring out over the rolling hills. "The doctor said my numbers were good. Do you think I could walk?"

"It's much too far," Trent said automatically.

"Some of the other kids are."

"Those are the healthy ones, son, you know that."

Max rested his chin on the lip of the cargo bed. "Uly's walking."

"He's healthy now." A shiver of hope ran through Trent as he said it. "Just be patient. You'll be taking long walks someday."

Max sighed but didn't say anything more. He just kept staring out at the landscape as if drinking it in. Trent brushed a hand over his hair. The great gamble, the biggest risk he'd ever taken or would ever take, was going to pay off. He knew it. Trent had left behind his home, his job, everything that was familiar and safe, but he would do more than that for Max.

And maybe now that the journey was behind them, he could turn his energy to his relationship with Devon Adair. It had been on hold far too long.

The line of Rovers filled up with parents and children. Chatter and giggles filled the air, excitement crackling like electricity. There was a squeal of, "Omygod, a bird! A real bird!" from Marie O’Connor. Most of the children and even some of the parents jumped up to see.

The advancers looked at them tolerantly, grinning. Trent could pick them out as advancers the moment he saw them. Even apart from the faded and worn clothing and the sun-darkened skin, there was a comfortable competency about the way they walked over the uneven ground and squinted against the falling sun. They seemed to read each others' minds, making sure that things were taken care of while all around them, colonists stared and fumbled.

Trent wondered if he would ever become so comfortable in this strange place.

"Hey, Max! Max!"

Using the side of the Max hoisted himself to a halfway standing position. "Uly! Here!"

"Hey!" Uly clambered up the wheel and crawled into the bed next to Max. "You’re finally here, this is so cool!"

Close to, he looked even more healthy than he had. His skin was tanned, his hair streaky with sun, and he didn’t have a single piece of medical apparatus on his body. Trent stared at him, wondering if his hand would pass through this dream of a healthy boy.

Max poked Uly, hard, in the upper arm.

"Hey, what was that for?" Uly complained amiably.

"Wanted to see if you were for real," Max said.

"I am."

"How?" Max asked bluntly.

All over the Transrover, heads turned. Suddenly, Uly and Max were the focus of everyone’s attention.

"Um," Uly said uncomfortably.

"It’s this natural setting, isn’t it?" Danielle Grant said. "I always knew it would help, but--" She wrapped her arms around her pale, undersized four-year-old. Melissa stared enviously at Uly.

"You’re gonna love it here," Uly said quickly. "It’s the best place ever."

"I will if it’ll make me well," Max said.

"It will. Promise." Uly looked around. "Uhoh, I think we’re going. I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay?"

"You don’t want to ride?" Trent asked.

"No, I like walking," Uly said. He stood up, swung his legs over the side of the vehicle, and before Trent could so much as put out a hand, the boy had launched himself into open space.

For a moment, Uly seemed to hang in the air, arms out, knees bent, overlong hair flying. Then gravity took over and he dropped to the ground.

All Trent’s breath whooshed out at once. "Uly!"

Uly turned, blinking. "What?"

"You could have really hurt yourself."

"What? Oh, no, it’s not that far."

Trent looked down. From here, it seemed like six feet at least.

"Anyway, the ground’s soft," Uly said.

That could be true. He could swear he’d seen Uly’s feet sink in, almost to the ankle, before he’d straightened up. Of course, he’d seen it from an angle.

"Wow," Max said. "Dad, will I be able to do that?"

"No," Trent said firmly.

"See you later," Uly called out, and rushed away.

"Hang on, everyone, we’re starting up," Danziger called from the front of the vehicle. Trent tensed, putting an arm around Max. There was a great lurch and they set off across the uneven ground, rocking from side to side.

Trent winced. "It's not far," he told his son.

"I know." Max pointed. "Look, Dad. Are those trees?"

"I suppose it must be," Trent said doubtfully. "Though Earth trees were green."

Danielle leaned over. "The leaves have turned, Trent. It’s autumn, right? Isn’t it?" she asked Dr. Heller.

"That’s right," Dr. Heller said.

Danielle let out a happy sigh. "It’s so much more beautiful than the museums and the VRs." She grinned hugely. "Can you imagine, real seasons?" She hugged Melissa close. "You can play in the leaves, sweetie."

"Now?" Melissa asked.

Danielle hesitated, then smiled brightly. "Next year. When you’re better."

"Winter starts in about a month," Danziger said. "You guys can have snowball fights."

Max's eyes lit up. "Dad! Snow!"

"No," Trent said firmly. "Max, it'll be too cold for you."

"But--"

"Do you want to get sick?"

"I am sick," Max mumbled.

"You have a condition," Trent corrected. "But you will get sick if you go out in the snow."

Max sighed and looked at the trees again.

Trent was just starting to get a little queasy from the lurching when Danziger climbed back into the cargo bed. He called out, "Okay, everyone, listen up." The chatter cut off as if a switch had been flipped. "We're going to get into New Pacifica in a few minutes. It's not going to be what you're expecting. We had some changes in plans, but you all have a roof and a bed."

"What about the hospital?" Trent asked.

Dr. Heller stood up, anchoring herself to a support pole. "If you want to admit your children to the hospital for tonight, I can show you where that is, but give us about half an hour to get the staff familiarized and all the machinery on."

"For right now, find the door with your name on it and put your stuff in your rooms," Danziger said.

Trent frowned. "Aren’t there drones or robots for that?"

Danziger paused and stared down at him. "Where did you live on the stations?" he said.

Strange question. "Level four east," Trent said. "Manhattan block."

Danziger nodded, as if a suspicion had been confirmed. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Well, there aren't any drones here, and the robots we do have are doing more important stuff. You'll have to carry your own luggage."

They were coming up on a cluster of long, low buildings . . . two or three, from what Trent could see. Storehouses, he thought. The town itself couldn't be too far away. Then he saw the openings in the walls. He frowned.

Why would a storehouse need windows?

The big vehicle halted. Max tried to stand. "Dad? Are we there?"

"Not just yet, son," he said, making him sit down again. They couldn't be. These boxy buildings couldn't be anything but storehouses. They were made out of wood.

"All right, end of the line," Danziger said, leaping down. "All ashore who's goin' ashore."

"Wait," Ben O’Connor said. "This is it?"

"New Pacifica. Population a hell of a lot more than it was this morning."

Trent stared, waiting for him to admit his joke, climb back up into the Rover, and tell the driver to keep going. But the door opened and a bearded man joined Danziger on the ground. "Who's first?" he called out.

Oh God. This was it.

Four raw wooden buildings arranged around a square. You could walk from one edge to the other in five minutes. Less. This was New Pacifica? This was where they were supposed to live for the rest of their lives?

"Those are the dorms," Danziger said, pointing at two of the buildings. "A's are over in the far corner of the northern one, Z's are right about here. They're two-person rooms, so you might be sharing."

"Sharing?" Horror piled on top of horror. "Sharing private quarters?"

"If you don't feel like sharing, we have plenty of tents," Danziger drawled.

"This is temporary, right?"

Danziger and the bearded man exchanged looks. "You mean will you be living here forever? No. But unpack anyway."

Still boggling, Trent managed to get himself and Max out of the Rover without killing either of them. He looked around for the chair, but Max said, "Dad, I wanna walk, please can I walk, please?"

It was only a few steps to the nearest door. Trent sighed. "Hold my hand and be careful, son. This ground is uneven." He looked again at the dorms, already missing his big level-four unit back at the stations, with holo-frames, original art, and every amenity known to mankind. God knew who had it now.

"It's all one level, you know."

Trent turned to see Danziger looking past him at the dorms. "Excuse me?"

"The dorms," he said, flashing a smile like a shark's. "All one level. That's the way it is around here."

Before Trent could answer that very odd statement, the man had climbed up into the Transrover to retrieve another child.

"Here it is," Julia said, a bubble of pride swelling up in her. "The hospital." She loved this neat, straight building, all warm pale wood. It had been the very first building that had gone up. Devon's idea, but one that nobody had voted against, a bit of generosity that still warmed Julia. They'd slept here for a month, so delirious with joy at having a real roof over their heads that the increased lack of privacy had barely bothered them. As it was, Morgan had managed to get Bess pregnant here, a fact that still made Danziger's eye twitch slightly.

As Julia always did, she smiled up at the sign over the double doors, which said "New Pacifica General." Underneath those words, if the light hit it right, you could sometimes read the traces of what Alonzo had originally painted: "The Dr. Feelgood Center for Full Body Medicine." She had made him paint over it while the rest of the advancers crowded behind their tents to muffle their whoops of laughter.

She pushed the double doors open rather grandly, propping them open with the rocks that were kept outside for that purpose. The phalanx of doctors, nurses, and med-techs shuffled in behind her, their footsteps tentative on the wooden floor.

The setting sun flooded the western windows, but most of the hospital was cloaked in darkness. Julia moved through the shadows with the ease of experience, her sturdy boots thumping cheerfully. "We usually don't have the electricity on in here," she called out over her shoulder. "But the solar panels have been absorbing all day." She checked the battery levels and found them full to the brim. "Any machines we need for tonight should be just fine."

She opened the switchbox and used the side of her hand to flip several switches at a time, with thick ka-chunk noises. She liked that brisk, competent sound, echoing around her hospital. With each ka-chunk, another group of overhead lights switched on, illuminating the rows of beds, the sturdy tables, the quiet machines. Danziger had worked himself practically blind over the electrical diagrams, balancing the mind-boggling amount of power needed against the depressingly finite capacities of the solar panels that they’d been able to get back from the Grendlers.

"Offices are on the eastern end," she said, closing the switchbox. "There's a nurse's station for every ten beds. That door down there opens up to the medical dorms. As soon as we get around to it, there's going to be a passageway, so when winter comes you won't have to go out in the cold." She turned, still talking. "There are enough beds to accommodate any non-Syndrome--" She stopped.

Most of the people she'd led in here were still huddled back by the doors, looking around as if they'd asked for a full cardiopulmonary/respiratory monitoring system and gotten a stethoscope. A few of them had fanned out, stepping gingerly around the straight wooden beds, twitching at their lab coats again and again as if making sure nobody could mistake them for someone who worked in a place like this.

Julia hooked her hands behind her back, suddenly aware of her messy hair, the frayed hem of her shirt, the rip starting on one knee. She drew herself very straight and finished her sentence. "To accommodate any non-Syndrome patients. We also have cots in storage that can be set up in the event of a quarantine situation."

The head nurse nudged a freestanding wooden panel set up between two beds. It had little wheels at the base. MacDonald nudged it again, harder, and raised a brow when it skidded away from her.

That had been Baines's idea, those moving walls. "We designed the layout for optimum modularity," Julia said. "All the furniture--Everything can be moved very easily. If we need to."

Miguel Vasquez picked up a corner of the blanket on one bed, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger with an incredulous expression on his face. Julia just stopped herself from yanking it out of his grasp and smoothing it down. It was one of the ones she'd made herself.

She cleared her throat. "It's perfectly sterile, I assure you. The fiber is a flax-like plant that grows wild, and all the dyes are vegetal." The crew had spent weeks on those blankets, the lumpy first attempts spread proudly over their own beds.

Miguel dropped the blanket and wiped his fingers on his lab coat.

"We--uh--we lucked out a little," Julia said into the echoing silence. "We didn't lose too many machines to Grendlers, and we managed to trade for most of them back. What we have should be sufficient."

They looked at her, obviously with not a clue what a Grendler was. Of course. How would they know?

Miguel nodded a few times, then patted her heavily on the shoulder. His voice was too hearty. "Don't worry, Dr. Heller. This should be--fine." He looked around, and when his eyes met MacDonald's, his pasted-on smile slipped a little. "For the time being."

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