Chromosome Quest

by Nathan Gregory

  I didn't sleep well that night. A concerned, almost frightened Lolita kept asking me why and I couldn't tell her. I let her believe it was merely anxiety over the next day's travel. That was, strictly speaking, accurate, if not the entire story. I had become attached to this child and hoped I would see her again. I did not suggest to her otherwise.

  The first day's trip was an easy one. A little under twenty miles through the woods to a trusted neighbor, then food, good cheer, and of course my much-sought-after unique compensation. We started early though, the sun barely cresting the mountains.

  In addition to our weaponry, we each carried heavy packs, not solely for our purpose alone. It is customary for any traveler making a trip between castles to carry additional items and messages. Spices and personal gifts were a regular commodity, for example. Sometimes scrolls containing valuable documents, even personal letters.

  And although not a physical burden, we also carried private verbal messages, memorized by rote. Lolita, for example, had given me a personal missive to her counterpart, a cousin, the youngest adult daughter of that clan's leader. I almost feared to deliver it, as it was rather explicit and downright scatological in flavor. Lolita considers me something of a prude.

  Perhaps I am, by her standards.

  Because the castles are relatively close, commerce between them is plentiful, and there were many small items queued for transport. Two members of Lolita's family also accompanied us, also carrying enormous burdens of their own, to the same purpose. They would travel with us today and return the next day laden with items to bring home, a common practice for the nearer castles. Despite the hazards of the great lizards, quite a lot of commerce flows among the castles, placing considerable traffic on the roads connecting them.

  Our big day started early, with an early celebratory breakfast send-off by our hosts, and an extra special send-off by my dear Lolita, her bulging belly failing to inhibit her enthusiasm. She was due soon. Privately I once again wondered whether I would see her again, whether I would ever see my son. Hers was not the only delivery nearing term, but she and her son were the closest to a real family to me. I will miss her.

  The five of us set out shortly after dawn. We set a pace that was somewhere between a fast jog and a slow run. We had plenty of time and food. We could stop for a rest and eat mid-way and planned to do precisely that. Our packs were somewhat more burdensome than we would have liked, but we accepted it was for a good cause and were glad to do our hosts a favor.

  Our traveling companions were young girls, athletic, and very fleet of foot. They were, as we might categorize them, professional runners, who made this trip regularly. Like all their peoples they were smaller in stature than we, and being very young, smaller still, but their packs were nearly as large as ours. Thus their burden was proportionally much greater than ours, relative to their body weight. With such a load they were not as able to maintain the pace we were, and we quickly realized we must let them set the pace. No matter, today's walk was an easy one.

  We let them take the lead and set the pace, while we followed along behind. Teena took our lead immediately behind our furry companions, then Petch, and finally I brought up the rear. They endlessly assured me that there was no danger here in the daytime, but I kept a sharp lookout anyway. Ever since I had learned this world had an active dinosaur population, I worried all the more. My head was on a swivel, and my bow carried at the ready, arrows in my draw hand. We were all armed, but I kept my bow in hand and at the ready.

  I was not only bringing up the rear to be on the lookout for possible threats; I wanted desperately to think about what I had learned about our greater mission. Following Teena's bounding curvaceousness too closely was detrimental to cognition!

  The first leg of the trip was entirely uneventful. We jogged along smoothly. With our moderate pace, we had plenty of breath for conversation. I told a few ribald jokes in Language for the benefit of our companions, unleashing gales of tinkling laughter. They responded with a few even more ribald than I had dared; we all laughed. After a time, I shifted to English and started quizzing my fellow adventurers.

  Teena was hesitant to talk further about the ultimate threat. Petch had been positively tight-lipped. She had once before admitted that somehow they had unleashed the enemy, accidentally, unintentionally, but had not elaborated.

  I poked and prodded, begged and pleaded, and gradually, in bits and pieces, the story emerged. I did not get the whole story that morning, or that day. Or even that week. It was a painful extraction that occurred over our entire journey.

  The enemy, I learned was something almost straight out of a Hollywood screenplay. Not precisely, and I am grossly oversimplifying, but in essence, it was Frankenstein run amok. Endless prophets of doom since Mary Shelly herself had warned us against the perils of technology. Frankenstein, Monsters from the Id, Gray Goo Ecophagy and the Terminators all were stories that entertained and cautioned us.

  Perhaps their world did not have a Mary Shelly to sound the alarm. Or maybe like the fictional Krell of Altair IV, in their arrogance, they ignored the risks, confident they could control their creations. In any case, their civilization died at their very own hands, and their genetic contagion has 'leaked' via the portals into every human-populated world to threaten the entire known universe.

  The exact mechanism of that doom is still not well understood. Theories abounded that perhaps genetic contamination had been carried by a mosquito-borne virus, or by prions in animals and consumed in their meat. Or possibly human beings themselves had been an unwitting vector. Had Petchy himself carried the lethal contamination to these gentle people? He had admitted coming here for a very long time and spending many happy nights among the furry friendlies. More likely the infestation occurred long before, perhaps a predecessor of Petchy’s had supplied the vector.

  Our mission then was not just to poison and kill the Artificial Intelligence behind the threat, but to extract its research database for study. Even if we succeed in destroying the AI and yet failed to return with the data, there is no assurance humanity will survive. Unless we recover the strategic information for the scientists capable of interpreting it, the key to ending the plague and restoring human fertility may not be discovered in time to save life as we know it. They needed to unravel the precise mechanism whereby fertility had been decimated, and devise a repair that could be propagated, hopefully without inducing more terrible unintended consequences.

  Such was the nightmare I was poking at, trying to wrap my head around when we called a momentary halt to our hike. We had been traveling almost two hours and had covered about half of the distance before us. Ten miles in two hours was a brisk pace, loaded as we were, and it would be unwise to wear ourselves out so early in the quest. We could have run the whole distance in far less time unburdened. A large pack slows one down.

  So we stopped for lunch!

  We unpacked our provisions and passed them around. The rest would be a short one. We would eat, drink and perhaps share another ribald story or two and then hit the road again after no more than a half-hour. The more demanding segments of our journey will not permit such luxuries.

  After our break, we again hit the trail. We found the second leg of the trip as uneventful as the first, my archery skills were entirely unneeded, and in due course, we arrived at our first new castle to an enthusiastic welcome.

  New Castle

  We arrived at our destination still quite early in the day. Despite our burdens, and despite my fears, the trip had been uneventful, and not especially strenuous. We were welcomed enthusiastically by our hosts.

  They wasted no time at all demanding their payment. I suppose it is only to be expected, after all, we had but a few hours here, and they had pinned a lot of hopes on some virile male babies soon a-birthing.

  In fact, they already had several gestating already, thanks to Stapleya's business acumen. Quite a number of this castle's fertile females had already visited with me, paying the steep price
commanded by our host. Our visit now gave them a shot at getting still more progeny in progress and lowering the average cost of the next generation.

  Our host met us at the door with a coterie of very young, nubile charges under her wing. The obligatory hugs and greetings and I found myself quickly hustled off to an inner room to render my duty. Unlike that first, long-ago evening in this strange land, I was no longer troubled by taboos or jailbait phobias. I was now merely a competent workman doing a job that all parties had agreed to, for our mutual benefit. In many ways not so very different than a medical practitioner, at least in that I was a professional, delivering a professional service.

  Consider for example the case of the practicing male doctor. No matter how much he might appreciate the female anatomy in his private life, he doubtless fails to find the same pleasure in the endless stream of that same anatomy in his professional life. However much I might enjoy my time with Lolita, or fantasize about some particularly well-endowed Amazon, I won't name, this was merely a professional duty, to be discharged competently and professionally with the skill that nature and long practice had granted me.

  Noting the collection of eager pledges foist upon me, I laughed privately, wondering just what sort of Superman our host thought I was. Even if there were three of me, it would be a Herculean task do them all justice in a single afternoon. Nonetheless, I applied myself to the job.

  We passed several hours in enthusiastic congress, the girls giggling and gabbing incessantly, comparing notes on my performance as if I were not even present, and speculating about the babies they hoped to raise. Frankly, this duty was in some ways much more demanding on the body and on the ego than the twenty-mile hike to get here.

  They had evidently been quite serious about keeping me focused on my appointed duties as they had well-supplied our room with comestibles so that we might continuously refresh ourselves and not have to break when the rest of the family gathered in the great room for the Evening Feast. Nonetheless, when later that evening the gong sounded announcing dinner, I insisted we take a break. I needed an excuse to rest my worn appurtenance, and I had very much come to enjoy the communal feasts with the entertainment and cultural insights they provided. I liked the social atmosphere!

  At first, they objected. Pleading exhaustion and needing a break, the girls finally agreed and after some playful washing and freshening up; we headed en masse to the communal hall.

  I was delighted when one of my hosts stood and began singing 'Clementine' after dinner, the whole group joining in and pounding the table in enthusiasm. I continued to be amazed at the popularity of that song. Clementine was not alone, they had several similar of their own, but still, I seemed to have started a trend, and a multitude of contributors had since added a variety of new verses.

  Suddenly they were clamoring for another song by me. Over recent months I had managed to pull several such campfire songs from my brain cells. I had recently pulled together one that I had not yet shared with my furry friends, and it seemed now was the right time.

  I stood, and they cheered for me to perform. I raised my hands, paused for quiet, and then began in a high falsetto, then dropping to my best basso profundo when appropriate.

  Who's that knocking at my door,

  Who's that knocking at my door,

  Who's that knocking at my door,

  Cried the fair young maiden.

  It's me and my crew and we've come for a screw

  said Barnacle Bill the sailor

  It's me and my crew and we've come for a screw

  said Barnacle Bill the sailor

  Are you young and handsome sir,

  Are you young and handsome sir,

  Are you young and Handsome sir,

  Cried the fair young maiden

  I'm old and rough and dirty and tough

  said Barnacle Bill the Sailor

  I'm old and rough and dirty and tough

  said Barnacle Bill the Sailor

  And on and on I went, singing the verses in English, then repeating some of the lines in Language. I gave them the more ribald folk-song version rather than the carefully sanitized American version. Knowing their propensity for blue humor, I figured they would appreciate the more scurrilous lyrics.

  I was right.

  They howled and screamed, and pounded the table. I had another hit. If I lost my baby-making talents, I still could make a living here as an entertainer! My tired old folk and campfire songs were fresh and new here.

  Soon the singing was done, and my retinue demanded to return to our lounge and resume their project. The rest of the evening was spent carrying out the agreed upon procreational duties. I had learned that happiness sometimes consists in getting enough sleep. Though I got little sleep, I did manage to give each candidate a portion of my seed. I wished them all healthy sons.

  The next morning we again hit the road, today a twenty-two-mile hike lay before us. This time our burden was lighter as there was little commerce at this moment, and we had no native runners accompanying us. We chose to put our hearts into the run and set a mean pace. I thought we could make the trip in about, or a little more than two hours and for a long time we made progress consistent with that goal, pounding out mile after mile, bounding along in silence. Petch was in the lead, setting the pace with Teena in the middle and I brought up the rear. I was enjoying watching her form as she glided along with a grace and smoothness that was as difficult to believe as it was hypnotic to watch.

  I pondered how she managed to run so hard, yet so smooth. I presumed that without the support of a sports bra, a woman marathoner must necessarily learn to run gracefully whereas I had more freedom to lumber along like the clumsy ox I was.

  I wondered how this culture had not developed as simple a garment as the bra. True, the fur-girls were not as buxom as our Amazon and had not the same needs. Well, Teena did not have a lot of such need despite her entrancing avoirdupois. She is as naturally well supported as she was naturally endowed. Still, it seemed a logical development and one they had thus far overlooked, or perhaps, due to the heat, had merely decided the benefit did not outweigh the complications. Doubtless, such a garment would become sweat-soaked and uncomfortably warm. I believe I have mentioned the hot climate and the importance of perspiration.

  I wondered when my own culture had invented the bra. Was it a recent affectation, or had even prehistoric women used such supporting appliances? I resolved to Google it when I got back to Earth. This was but one of the many occasions when I profoundly missed my computers!

  I think the fur-folk had not felt the lack merely because they had not invented clothes, and in general had no need of them. Their natural fur, the constant and exceedingly hot climate, along with their very active lifestyle had simply never inspired them to such adaptation. Their tight-knit social conformance would probably discourage innovation too, to a degree. In idle moments I speculated whether should a prominent member of their society adopt such a garment, would they be openly ridiculed, or slavishly followed?

  We were moving too fast for easy conversation, which was good as it gave me quiet time to think. As we ran, I replayed in my mind the various bits and pieces I had absorbed about our mission, pondering each stage and how we would accomplish the tasks before us. It occurred to me there was still a significant gap in my understanding of how we were to invade the enemy fortress.

  She had said we were to poison the AI and retrieve its database. As far as I knew, and I was a computer jock who should know, this requires technology. Inserting malware, a virus, or its logical equivalent into any system requires we bring something containing said virus with us. Typing in simple source-code from memory, compiling it and deploying it in the time window described seemed more than impractical. There must be millions, if not billions of individual server pods, or their logical equivalent if I understand the threat correctly and shutting down a few is not going to accomplish much.

  We needed a sophisticated, self-replicating worm that will deploy i
tself throughout the entire system without being detected and then irretrievably wipe all of the servers so it cannot fix itself and return to service. A logical equivalent to the old 'Format C:' command, else the system will restore the damaged nodes from backup and resume functioning. We must render them utterly incapable of functioning at the most elementary level.

  Retrieving a massive database required we bring some form of storage back with us, I imagined. How was this to be accomplished? Did she have a flash drive, or an equivalent secreted in her body somewhere? If so, how was it to be used?

  We were about ninety-five minutes into the morning's run, actually not very far from our destination, and I was still busily pondering this and various other questions when it happened. We were bounding along smoothly, Teena was in the middle when she came a cropper, spectacularly swan-diving into the ground without a trace of her usual grace and smoothness.

  I was close behind her, and only narrowly avoided falling myself, nearly tripping over her sprawling body. I barely managed to leap over her, landing in front of where she came to an ignominious halt.

  Petch was well in the lead, several paces out front, and for several seconds he continued, unaware of the fall. Only when he heard us both cursing did he realize what happened, halt and come jogging back.

  I recovered my balance after the unplanned jump, stopped, whirled around and returned to see if she was hurt, and was helping her to her feet when he reached us. She was scuffed, scraped and bruised, but initially seemed mostly unharmed. She checked herself over, slightly stiff and sore, but was able to stand and walk. We looked to see what she had tripped over.

  We scoured the path for several minutes, finding nothing at first. Then something moved in the grass beside the trail, and a rabbit-sized, unfamiliar armored lizard crawled gingerly out, made a noise and then disappeared into the brush with tremendous speed. Near as we could determine there was nothing else she could have fallen over, so we surmised that the critter had burst from the brush just in time to collide with her foot at the perfect point in her stride to inflict a disastrous fall.