Jim Baen's Universe

Science Fiction Stories

Food for Thought

Written by Carl Frederick

Hypnotized by the motion, Mergoyn watched as the array of vibroneedles traveled inexorably toward Wosbel's skull. As the hundreds of tiny hypodermics made contact, Mergoyn winced.

"First time at a transfer?"

Startled, Mergoyn broke his gaze from his old friend on the other side of the glass and turned to the technician. "I had no idea it would be like this." He looked again through the window into the cleanroom. Wosbel sat in a surgical chair, his head held motionless in a metal harness, while the needles, looking like silver hairs on his otherwise-bald head, bored into his brain. Mergoyn shuddered, knowing that in twenty-four hours, he'd be sitting in that same harness.

"Textbook simple," said the technician. "This content expert's done it nine or ten times before, and the vibros don't even have to drill new channels anymore. Do you know him?"

"What? Yes. Wosbel. We've been friends since we were kids. He's a mathematics master."

"Ah," said the technician, swiveling his chair to face Mergoyn. "That's what I guessed from the clustering of the needles. J-4 sector of the cerebral cortex. It could hardly be anything else."

"You know," said Mergoyn, "it doesn't seem fair, somehow. Wos spends years learning advanced math just so some prince of the blood can pop a couple of pills and be more learned than his vassals."

"Our society values learning." The technician shrugged. "And it's not just popping pills. It takes two solid days of round-the-clock study for the knowledge to stick."

"I know. I'm an enlightener myself."

The technician raised his eyebrows, then put on his glasses and peered at Mergoyn. "I'm sorry. I didn't notice your amber badge. I thought you were here as a friend of Lord Endred."

"Who?"

"The content receiver." The technician looked closer at the badge. "Ah. Crimson chevron. You're not in the Guild yet?"

"No. I'm scheduled for tomorrow. First transfer."

"What's your content? Are you a mathematics master also?"

"No, a fencing master."

"Ah. I know about you." The technician paused. "Mergoyn, isn't it?"

Mergoyn nodded.

"You're enlightening Prince Kelvacorinin. It's pretty brave of the prince to attempt this."

Mergoyn didn't like the sound of that. "Brave?"

"Well, yeah. Motor-skill enlightenment is still sort of new."

"What about me? I'm the one who'll lose those skills." Mergoyn gave a nervous laugh. "I don't even know if I'll be able to walk after the transfer. I'm not sure the prince is the adventurous one here."

"You're getting paid, aren't you?"

Mergoyn couldn't argue with that. Enlighteners were paid very well indeed. "Yes. I guess you're right. I got into this with my eyes open. No one to blame but myself."

Looking though the window at Wosbel, he thought back to his invitation into the Guild of Enlighteners. A high honor, they'd said. And whenever his receiver, Lord Kelvacorinin, Prince of the Blood, showed off his skills, they'd be Mergoyn's skills. Mergoyn would almost be royalty himself.

Vanity. Ego and vanity. Mergoyn shook his head. Yes, he'd been intrigued with the idea of advancing the art of enlightenment into the realm of sports and motor skills. The princes would pay plenty to be great swordsmen and riders without having to endure years of work and sweat. But despite the money, he had to concede his true motivation was vanity.

He gazed at the vibros and wondered how he'd feel with almost a thousand needles in his skull. And Wos only has two hundred.

"To be honest," said Mergoyn, turning back to the technician, "I'm worried that other knowledge besides fencing might be transferred. Maybe even personality."

"We don't think there'll be personality transfer."

"You don't think?”

"What do I know? I'm just a technician."

The control console emitted a soft chime, and the technician swiveled back to his work. "Your friend's done." With a flourish, he tapped a few buttons. "Now we'll just empty the needles into the electrolyte, and they can make the pills. Tastes like mint, I've been told."

Movement in the knowledge-transfer chamber drew Mergoyn's attention. As the needles pulled free of his friend's skull, two orderlies entered the chamber. While one rolled a gurney up to the surgical chair, the other applied an ointment to Wosbel's head, then covered the baldness with an amber-colored skullcap.

"A disinfectant," the technician explained, "and the amber cap of honor."

Mergoyn watched as the orderlies freed Wosbel from the harness and lifted him onto the gurney.

"They're taking him to the recovery center," said the technician. "You can go there if you wish."

Mergoyn stood and hurried to the control room door. "Thanks."

"No need to rush. He won't come out of it for about a half hour."

****

The Palace of Enlightenment was a large facility: knowledge-transfer chambers, cafeteria, classrooms, garden courtyards, a gymnasium, fencing salle, and a dormitory-and-guestroom complex.

Mergoyn took his time walking to Wosbel's recovery room. How do I talk to someone who's just lost an important part of his being? I cannot understand Wosbel. The man is the most ardent mathematician imaginable, always seeking to learn more, always thrilled by the quest. And yet all that knowledge is gone now. And he's gone through this many times. Why? By now, Wos certainly doesn’t need the money. Too bad that Guild rules prevent Wos from talking about it.

Mergoyn found the recovery room, knocked, and went in.

From the door, Mergoyn saw Wosbel sleeping in a hospital bed, his amber skullcap looking like close-cropped hair. A nurse sat by the bedside, reading. As Mergoyn approached, she put down the book and stood.

"Ah," said the nurse, indicating the chair she'd just vacated. "He's just about to wake up. Are you family?"

"Just a good friend." Mergoyn sat. "When can he go home?"

"As soon as he wants to. He'll just need someone to talk to for a while." The nurse gathered up her book and some snack-food boxes. She scurried to the door, talking as she went. "He'll need to overcome a little disorientation. But since you're here, I won't be needed. His clothes are in the closet."

When the door had closed behind the nurse, Mergoyn rested his chin on his folded hands and stared at his friend's face.

Wosbel's eyes fluttered open.

Mergoyn leaned in over the bed. "How do you feel?"

Wosbel stared vacantly, and after a few seconds said, "You're Mergoyn, Mergy. Yes?"

"Yes. Don't you remember?"

Wosbel sat up. "Yes, yes, of course. The memories are rushing in." He laughed. "I always enjoy this. It's rebirth." He flopped back on the bed. "Except, of course, I'm not particularly proficient in math anymore. It's great."

"Great? Doesn't it sadden you that your math knowledge is lost?"

"It's not lost. Lord Endred has it."

"You know what I mean."

Wosbel sat up again and swiveled his feet to the floor. "I'm looking forward to studying mathematics again. I remember how thrilled I was when I first really understood the Central Limit Theorem. It'll be great to feel that thrill again."

"I'm surprised you even remember the name—the Central Limit Theorem."

"Gee, thanks." Wosbel laughed. "I'm still a better mathematician than you are. It's just that I'm a little fuzzy on some stuff." He hopped out of bed, minimally clad in a thin hospital gown.

"Your clothes are—"

"—in the closet." Wosbel strode toward the wardrobe. "Yes, I know. I've done this many times. Just let me get dressed, and we'll get out of here. I love this feeling of rebirth. Hey, how about we go fence a little? The salle here's terrific." Wosbel fetched his clothes and began to get dressed.

"Wos, I've got to talk to you."

Wosbel tucked in his shirt. "Yeah, go ahead."

"I'm going to commit suicide."

Wosbel spun around. "What?" Then he sat on the bed. "Mergy. What are you talking about?"

"I can't bear it, Wos. Fencing's been my life. I can't bear the thought of being an absolute beginner again. And—"

"You won't be. You don't lose everything."

"And what if it doesn't work? Motor-skill transfer is still experimental."

"Not experimental, just new."

"Still, if something goes wrong, I could end up spending the rest of my life assembling good-luck charms in a dumb-factory."

"This isn't you speaking." Wosbel stepped into his shoes. "It's just nervousness. I was scared the first time also."

"It's me all right." Mergoyn shook his head. "But the worst of it is Prince Kelvacorinin, the guy I'm supposed to enlighten. The more I read about him, the more I detest him. He's always gotten things handed to him on a silver platter. No effort. He doesn't deserve to be a master fencer."

"Doesn't deserve?" Wosbel barked a guttural chuckle. "Welcome to the real world." He furrowed his brow and looked intently at Mergoyn. "But suicide? No. You can't be serious."

"Oh?" Mergoyn reached into his tunic and brought out a corked vial. " Innocuous-looking, isn't it? A standard, off-the-shelf, number five potion vial, but filled with tincture of mordroot dissolved in wine."

Wosbel got to his feet. "But how did you—"

"Don't even ask." He shook the vial and held it up to the light; little bubbles floated upward through the pink liquid. "Pretty, isn't it? A pleasant way to die, I've been told."

"That's horrible."

"What, the blotches? They don't appear until after death. And anyway, I'm not concerned with being a pretty corpse."

Wosbel made a quick grab at the vial. "Give me that."

Mergoyn was faster. He closed his fist around the vial. "I obsess about this little vial, Wos. Whenever I hold it, it takes a real act of will not to drink it." He returned the vial to his tunic. "My plan is to drink the stuff right before going in for the transfer."

"You can't do this."

"Sure I can. There's no law against suicide. In any case, I'm realm champion now. I've nothing left to prove."

Wosbel took hold of Mergoyn by the shoulders. "Mergy. Please. I could get thrown out of the Guild for telling you this, but I promise you. Your transfer will be like a rebirth. It's almost a religious experience. You'll see."

"I'm not too keen on reincarnation, Wos. I'll be history soon. It's for the best."

"Don't talk nonsense." Wosbel finished getting dressed. "If you feel this way, why on earth did you agree to do it?"

"To advance the art of enlightenment." Mergoyn sighed. "But I assumed the transfer would be to someone worthy."

"You know your problem, Mergy? Inactivity. You always brood when you're not getting enough exercise." Wosbel sprung to the door. "Come on. Let's go to the salle and fence for a few hours. Get those crazy thoughts out of your head."

Mergoyn stood, but made no motion toward the door.

"I said, come on. You have no option. We are going to fence."

Mergoyn sighed. "Who knows? Maybe you're right." He followed Wosbel out the door.

****

Mergoyn executed a perfect beat-disengage-lunge, touching Wosbel on the wrist directly under the guard. He recovered from the lunge, took off his mask, and went forward to shake hands. Though he'd just won the bout 5-1, he didn't care.

"That last touch was terrific," said Wosbel.

"Years of practice," said Mergoyn. "And just think, after an enlightenment and two days of instruction with a fencing master, Prince Kelvacorinin could do just as well."

"Don't think about it. How about another bout?"

"Sure. Fine."

Although the Palace of Enlightenment boasted the realm's most prestigious fencing salle, the large hall stood mostly empty that afternoon. The salle manager, feet up on a table, browsed a copy of The Daily Herald while a half dozen or so white-clad fencers bouted for fun during their extended lunch hours.

Mergoyn and Wosbel were midway through another bout when the door of the salle flew open, and a retinue marched in, led by a tall man in fencing whites. He held a mask in one hand and an épée in the other.

"Speak of the devil," said Mergoyn, halting the bout and taking off his mask.

"Who are they?" Wosbel took off his mask and mopped his face with the sleeve of his fencing jacket.

"The guy swaggering in front is Prince Kelvacorinin."

"Yeah. I should have recognized the crest on the mask."

The man directly behind the prince walked forward and held up his hands for silence. "May I have your attention."

"As if we have any choice," Mergoyn muttered under his breath.

"Your attention, please. Lord Kelvacorinin, Prince of the Blood, is scheduled for enlightenment tomorrow morning. He will absorb the knowledge as well as the skill of a fine fencing master. As you doubtless know, Prince Kelvacorinin is already an accomplished fencer. So that he may gauge his improvement after the enlightenment, he honors you by offering to fence with all present here, regardless of station."

Mergoyn and Wosbel exchanged glances.

"Go for it, Wos," said Mergoyn, softly.

"Thanks, I will. I'll be able to say I've fenced a prince of the blood."

Wosbel unhooked his épée cord from the automatic scoring machine, then walked forward, bowed, and accepted Kelvacorinin's offer.

Mergoyn unhooked as well and made way as Lord Kelvacorinin stepped onto the piste.

As Wosbel started to hook up for the bout, Kelvacorinin said, "I'd rather not use the machine. I'm sure we can both acknowledge our touches. Yes?"

Wosbel bowed his agreement, and they fenced the bout without benefit of the scoring machine. Wosbel lost five to four.

Not bothering to shake hands, the prince went off to fence someone else.

"He's not that good," said Wosbel as Mergoyn walked over. "I should have won that bout."

"You did win it." Mergoyn looked contemptuously over at Lord Kelvacorinin. "Our gracious prince cheats, I'm afraid. There were at least three touches that landed solidly that he didn't acknowledge."

"I thought they landed, but—"

"They landed." Mergoyn pointed his epee at the prince. "There's no way I'll let that arrogant bastard have my fencing knowledge. No way. Look at that swagger."

Mergoyn and Wosbel watched as Kelvacorinin took on the next fencer. The prince won the bout. The loser took off his mask and stepped forward to shake the prince's hand, but Kelvacorinin merely gestured him away and went off to the next fencer. The prince won all his bouts.

"He's not a good winner, is he?" said Wosbel. "Looks like he's coming over here to fence you now."

Mergoyn nodded. Perhaps we'll see if he's a poor loser as well.

"I may as well fence you, too," said the prince.

Mergoyn bowed. "I'm honored."

"Quite," said the prince, turning his back and striding to the en garde line.

At the first engagement, the prince made a direct attack without preparation. Mergoyn executed a stop touch in time to the prince's elbow, but instead of acknowledging the touch, the prince pressed forward, touching Mergoyn on the shoulder.

"My point, I'm afraid," said the Prince. "Your touch arrived late and was much too light."

"Of course," said Mergoyn. There was no sense in arguing with a prince of the blood. All right. No more finesse.

Mergoyn wasted no time on subtlety. Using nothing but direct attacks, he scored the next five points, winning five to one. He removed his mask and went to shake hands, but the prince, masked, merely gave a curt nod. Then he removed his mask and glove, and handed them to a retainer. "I assume fencing is your profession," said the prince, looking down at his fingernails.

"Yes. I am a fencing master."

"I daresay you are almost in the class of my own fencing master."

"Thank you. I'm flattered. Who is your fencing master, if I may ask."

"Alton. And how are you called?"

"Mergoyn Tendreythin." What game is this guy playing? Alton is far from being God's gift to fencing. And the prince knows it.

The prince furrowed his brow. "Mergoyn. Mergoyn."

"I am to be your enlightener."

"Ah, yes." The prince laughed. "So, in a few days, I'll have your skills, and you'll be back in beginners’ class."

Mergoyn forced a smile. "Yes. I'm sure it will make you more of a challenge for Alton."

The prince grew thoughtful. "It would be nice if you were better than Alton." He steepled his fingers. "Come to my palace tonight. Dinner. And then we'll go to my salle, and you can fence Alton. It's possible you actually might be a better fencer than he is. Come at six."

The prince turned and, followed by his retainers, sauntered out of the salle.

Wosbel, who'd been in earshot, walked over to Mergoyn. "Interesting."

"I tell