by Ginger Booth
Genevieve Carruthers harrumphed at the understatement, but waved a hand in a pray-continue gesture.
Kassidy fine-tuned her drone coverage, with two cameras flying to capture other speaker’s faces, and her third-eye camera trained on the geneticist. Sass wryly noted that for once none of Kassidy’s cameras focused on the starlet herself.
Carruthers’ posarium-based Sagamore medicine collection included some wondrously effective eye drops and skin salves to counteract the negative reactions to exposure to their toxic atmosphere. To assure even coverage, and make visibly clear when it was time for a fresh application, the meds helpfully dyed the recipient. The whites of Kassidy’s eyes were a disconcerting blue-green, and her skin a vivid blue-purple. Jules looked even goofier, since her light hair failed to cloak her violet scalp as well as Kassidy’s black curls.
But Jules wasn’t in the room at present. Only those sinned against and their champions, as Sass thought of them. She’d invited Clay and Eli, Copeland and Ben, and Kassidy to document the proceedings. She hoped that would lull Carruthers into a false sense of security.
The captain began, “One of the reasons we were so keen to retrieve you, was a series of experiments you performed on Mahina, from about 25 to 21 years ago –”
“Possibly before or after,” Clay interjected.
Sass nodded. “On infants. You applied a genetic splice, not of their parents. Agreed?”
Carruthers pursed her lips. “This is a criminal investigation?”
“It is not,” Clay acknowledged. “The statute of limitations ran out. Mahina Actual sentenced you to exile on the orbital, for whatever crimes they decided to prosecute you for. That verdict will not be reopened.”
“But we do seek to understand,” Sass tag-teamed. “You see, we have identified a number of people with this gene splice. Some are highly successful. Surprisingly successful. Out of how many failures? How many were attempted? What exactly were you attempting to do? We’ve been unable to find this information.”
The geneticist pointed to a drone. “I refuse to answer on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.”
Sass purred, “You are headed for Mahina Orbital. You have chosen to continue serving out your life sentence on the orbital. I believe we can offer a written agreement that there will be no further prosecution, in exchange for your cooperation.”
“I have it right here,” Clay supplied on cue. “You do remember me, yes, Dr. Carruthers?” He slid a tablet toward her for her perusal.
She nodded, and read the legalese carefully. “Caveat,” she murmured. “I agree to surrender a copy of all data I have with me. I do not hold all of the data, however. Some left for Denali with my ex.” She glanced at Kassidy warily.
“Dad,” Kassidy stated unhelpfully.
Sass laid a hand on hers to remind her to record, not participate. She’d already broken up one cat fight between the two. Since then Carruthers stayed aft of the galley except at gatherings to avoid further face-scratching. Much to the scientist’s annoyance, her assigned bunk lay with Cortez and Wilder. Her demands for more suitable lodging earned her unanimous dislike.
“Your father loved you very much,” Carruthers offered perfunctorily. She clearly didn’t give a damn about Michael Yang abandoning his brat. Sass gave Kassidy’s hand another pat to remind her today’s meeting wasn’t about her.
Carruthers signed the agreement and affixed her thumb print and retinal scan.
Clay counter-signed on behalf of the Thrive, then passed the document to Ben, who witnessed it willingly. Copeland glared at Clay for a minute before capitulating.
“Let us begin.” Sass steepled her fingers. “We believe you’ve met John Copeland and Benjamin Acosta before.”
Carruthers shrugged. “They were quite small when last we saw the subjects.”
“You do recognize the names.”
“Of course.”
“And to be clear, you performed genetic alterations to them as – eggs? Fetuses? Without parental knowledge or consent –”
Carruthers interrupted with a finger in the air. “Copeland’s parents agreed. They were delighted to volunteer and happy with their pay. In fact, that fee saved the child’s life a couple years later, during an atmospheric decompression event in Schuyler. They bought the baby an air tent to keep him safe at night.”
Sass glanced warily to Copeland. Clay and Ben both placed hands on his shoulders to offer moral support.
“My uncle knew nothing about that,” Copeland bit out. “Guy who raised me.”
“Your uncle was a difficult man,” Carruthers noted coldly. “I’m sorry for your loss. Very sorry, in fact. We intended at first to have only one test subject. But the accident made total hash of our results. The toddler was clearly traumatized, clinically depressed, and no longer receiving quality parenting in a good home. His guardian was a drunkard and a bully. Any results from this subject were completely compromised. Although he had looked rather promising.”
Sass cut in with a deadly whisper, “You will not refer to my crewman as a ‘subject’ again. He is sitting right here. You will treat him with respect.”
Carruthers’ eyes widened. “I did not mean any disrespect, Mr. Copeland. A scientist needs to detach from the subjects of an experiment, in order to remain objective. On a personal level, you were quite cute, for a baby. I’m not especially fond of children myself. But, you know, you were interested, clever, quite bright. Not whiny. Until you were terrorized and became understandably withdrawn. I was simply referring to how that psychic damage frustrated our ability to gauge the results of your gene splice.”
Dripping with acid sarcasm, Copeland offered, “Apology accepted.”
“It was an explanation, not an apology,” Carruthers observed. “Anyway, we only had permission from MA to experiment on one infant, with the parents’ blessing. But clearly the field conditions were wholly unacceptable. We needed to replicate far beyond one, or we’d make no progress at all.”
“Back up,” Eli interrupted. “What were you attempting to do?”
“Yes, of course,” Genevieve Carruthers conceded. “Genius, simply. As a limiting factor on the long-term viability of the colony. In order to succeed with so very few people, we needed to increase the incidence of genius.”
“But intelligence is not heritable, is it?” Eli argued.
“That’s what I was told in school,” Kassidy agreed.
“Exactly the problem,” the geneticist confirmed. “However there is a tendency to inherit, shall we say, a constellation of predisposed intelligences from the parents. Whether or not they’re genetic. They could be primarily nurture, not nature. With or without the spark of genius. That spark, Michael and I believed, was an extraordinary capacity for focus. Not the intelligence ability to reason, per se, but the inclination to keep after their aims, keep asking questions, and remain absorbed long after everyone else is bored to tears. So the gene splice was not intelligence, but rather just a touch of the autism spectrum.”
“You did what?” Copeland hissed.
“Not the disease,” Carruthers defended herself in a huff. “Merely a slight disregard for other human beings, coupled with an extraordinary degree of focus and follow-through. Dogged determination.”
Sass interjected, “Traits you shared with Michael Yang?”
“Well, yes. The genetic material didn’t come directly from us, though. It was modified. I am in no sense your mother,” the geneticist consoled Copeland.
“Damned straight you’re not!”
Clay murmured, “I think we should let Sass and Eli direct this interview. Allow time for questions later.”
Copeland and Ben conceded the point. Kassidy didn’t, but at least she kept her mouth shut. Good enough. Sass recapped. “So the natural rate of genius supplying too few –”
“On a base population of a mere quarter million and falling?” Carruthers interrupted. “Daunting scientific and technical challenges surrounding us? In a completely hostile en
vironment? Far, far too few geniuses. Except for the founder generation, already died out. Those were the brightest minds of a hundred million, two hundred million – the cream of Earth’s brilliance.”
“– You wanted more,” Sass continued. “How many more did you make?”
“We altered ten embryos. Not every splice was the same.”
“No,” Sass confirmed. “Copeland’s gene splice is clearly similar, but not identical to Ben’s. Yet Ben’s exact gene splice appears in three settler undergraduates at Mahina University.”
Carruthers leaned forward on her arms in rapture. “Really! Our settlers went to university? That is most encouraging!”
“One graduate student at MU also carries a related gene splice, not quite identical to Copeland’s or Ben’s,” Sass continued.
“Fascinating!” Genevieve nearly salivated. “We expected little from that one. He was a…calibration point. We needed to identify what degree of autism, if you will, was too much. He was the too much. We declared him a failure. Of course, we did not ask his parents.”
“Because?” Sass prompted.
“Who would volunteer their infant for just a touch too much autism?”
“Who indeed,” Sass replied, a touch too sharply.
“Yet the individual succeeded,” Eli pointed out. “For a settler to reach graduate school at MU was unheard of.”
Carruthers nodded. “Perhaps we moderated the splice too far. Has he made any especial breakthroughs yet?”
“He’s a grad student,” Eli reminded her. “He does scut work and grades papers.”
“Foolishness.” Carruthers pushed into the back of her chair in disgust. “So, there were 10 altogether. Four, you say, at MU? Clearly successful. Mr. Copeland, I haven’t seen you since you were three. But you seem quite competent, clearly not a lanky or lack-wit.” She waved a hand to encompass the Thrive. “This is not a simple system. You function as its engineer. I don’t know how long you’ve been at it –”
“About a month,” Sass replied.
“And has he changed anything yet?”
Sass glanced at Copeland. “Yes. He is capable, innovative, with astonishing focus. For better and worse.”
“Of course. Tunnel vision is a two-edged sword,” Carruthers agreed. “So we’ve accounted for those five, Copeland and the slightly more antisocial grad student, three undergrads. I take it Mr. Acosta is one of the undergrads. I remember your parents. The dentist and the optician, wonderful personalities. How is your mother?”
“Dead,” Ben supplied. “Of cancer. Dad’s still a dentist.”
“Ah. Well, three others subjects died, nothing to do with the experiment. The death rate among settlers is simply atrocious. And two more. I have no more idea than you what became of them. They all had good parents, nurturing people who had achieved an unusual level of personal success among settlers, and therefore under very challenging circumstances. Oh, I must ask – is one of the undergraduates a girl?”
“Yes,” Sass said. “Why one?”
“We only edited the one girl,” Carruthers supplied. “Another outlier point I felt it was necessary to test. I can check my records and supply the names of the other two boys. They were slightly older than Acosta. Probably brilliant in their way, successfully socialized into a settler community somewhere. Or not. So many settler mishaps result in intellectual damage.”
“Why didn’t you experiment on urbs?”
“Self-defense.”
“Ah. And did you alter any other embryos? For any other experimental aims?”
“No. The one program was entirely more trouble than it was worth. It got us exiled. Despite our research being absolutely essential to the success of Mahina Colony.”
“The aims of your research,” Eli quibbled. “The actual research program was seriously flawed. In ethics, methodology, and followup.”
“Well – yes.” Carruthers summoned her dignity. “We did intend to follow up. Mr. Copeland, your parents were absolutely delighted to participate. And delighted with you. Their loss was a terrible tragedy for us all. Mr. Acosta, by your point in the program it is true that we did not ask permission. However your parents did agree to a series of ‘experimental checkups.’” She supplied air-quotes. “They were remunerated with urb equipment not readily available or affordable to settlers. We gave your mother eye testing equipment, and your father a portable dentistry kit, so that he could travel to serve more small communities.”
“Dad still has the kit,” Ben murmured. “Visits six settlements a month.”
Carruthers inclined her head imperiously. “That funding came from our own pockets, since we no longer had an approved research budget. And we smuggled the equipment out for them.”
“Thank you,” Ben replied uncertainly. “Any advice on how to live with what you did to us?”
She glanced at him in surprise. “Find something that excites you, challenges you, supports you in going further and deeper than anyone before, to solve the big problems and win tangible benefits for your people. Mahina needs you. Never doubt it.” She caught Copeland’s eye as well. “This was the only reason. Quite simply – we need your genius. Whatever genius we might have managed to grant you.”
Sass sighed. “Enough for this meeting, I think. Food for thought. We have time to reflect, review data, and ask more questions. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Carruthers.”
“You’re welcome. And I must say, Mr. Copeland, Mr. Acosta, it is my very great privilege to meet you. I anticipate great things from you.” The geneticist rose, and moved to offer her hand to shake. She thought better of it as Copeland narrowed his eyes. She left it at a nod, and turned on her heel to exit with dignity.
“That gene splice is heritable,” Copeland growled to her back. “My son has it.”
Carruthers paused and turned her face back only partway. “I’m glad to hear that. Your son is a fortunate boy.” With that parting shot, she walked away.
“No remorse,” Copeland muttered. “Autism spectrum. Does that mean I turn out like her? Not giving a damn about the people whose lives she screwed with?”
Kassidy replied before Sass could decide what to say. “There’s a lot to be said for dancing to your own drummer, Copeland. What she described, it does describe you. Ben, too. And me, Eli, Sass, Clay – all of us. We bucked the tide. We don’t fit in. We went our own way.”
“Well said,” Sass agreed. “Each for our own reasons,” she consoled Copeland. “And you are in a good place now, both of you. If you want to fix Mahina, or solve a problem that makes life better, we’re behind you 100%. You know that. If you find some place better to be, you’ll go with our blessing. And our friendship forever.”
Ben looked to Copeland. “We got each other, too. I mean, we’re weird. But we’re not alone.”
Copeland nodded slowly. “We are. Together. Though as chief engineer, I should have my own stateroom. Screw it. You’re good company, kid.”
Ben grinned back.
“Clay?” Sass asked. He’d kept awfully quiet during this interview, and his eyes were closed.
“He fell asleep a while ago,” Kassidy reported.
Sass smiled softly. The nanites labored overtime on him. She was surprised he managed to stay on his feet at all today, given the severe damage he’d taken. Their ultra nanites got a body back to defensive capability at an astonishing rate. Yet they still needed to complete the deep rebuild to make Clay’s destroyed organs as good as new. Like the auto-doc, they preferred their human stay still during that process.
“I’ll put him to bed.”
Clay struggled to stay awake as Sass stripped him for bed and tucked him in. His efforts were rewarded as she kissed him gently on the forehead. A simple tug and rise of his chin persuaded her to join a tender kiss to his lips as well.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “We never could have made it without you.”
“You could thank me harder,” he suggested.
Sass breathed a laugh. “Not r
ight now, I think.” She petted his chest. “I’ll be back with meals. When you’re stronger. Promise.”
“I’m not crew,” he murmured, eyes closing themselves without volition.
“Not crew?” Sass asked. “Ah, as in don’t screw with crew. No, you’re right, that doesn’t apply to you. You’re grandfathered.”
He smiled at the joke, then drifted off content, her fingers playing in his hair.
45
We can postulate that the Mahina body politic decided they could finally afford to do something about their tragic failure to thrive rate, and suddenly funded and trained an elite space corps.
All smiles, Sass punched the button to open the broad cargo bay door and lower the ramp to the ground, reveling in the magic of no airlock and a breathable atmosphere for the first time in months. Home.
She was surprised and touched that Abel chose to wait for her to do the honors. She had no particular people here in the throng waiting to greet them. Even Eli had Dr. Conroy, MA Director of Terraforming, waiting to pounce.
Home is where your people are.
Sass perched on the ramp as her people flowed out to their reunions. She wistfully wondered how many would return for Thrive’s next trip. Clay caught his grandkids up and twirled with them under his arms. Kassidy steeled herself to face her mother. Josiah the mob boss waited near Hunter to greet Copeland. Abel’s sister brought his father in a wheelchair. The lanky Dr. Acosta waited for Ben.
Sass wasn’t alone on the ship. Cortez and Wilder were exiled from Mahina, and presently holed up in berthing. Their families and ex-friends were a stone’s throw away in the city, but not out here to greet them. Contact was forbidden.
A gray-haired Atlas Pratt steered a stroller from the settlers-only parking lot next door. “Sorry I’m running late! Someone needed a diaper pit stop.”
“Glad you took care of that,” Copeland assured him. He crouched in wait for the baby to come to him, clearly feeling shy. “Hey little man. You remember me?”
