by Jerry
In the dim light he caught movement. One edged up the hill thirty yards down, the second just cresting the ridge. He picked up a spear and raced to meet the first Clicker. When the creature leaped toward him, Jake placed the rear of his wooden lance in the ground and vectored the point directly into the airborne male. The beast howled in pain, suspended momentarily in the air from the tip of the spear, and then slowly collapsed to a limp body impaled on a stake. Jake allowed the corpse to arch down to the ground. Then he stood up and ran in the direction of the second Clicker. He cleared the edge of the ridge and uttered a single word. “Shit!”
Two more males were coming out of the tree line. He quickly picked up a small stone and threw it down at the second male. The creature jumped to the right causing the projectile to miss its target, but the pebble had served only as a diversion. The larger rock, thrown seconds after the first stone, hit its objective and cracked the skull of the small male. From experience, Jake knew the Clickers tended to jump to the right and immediately launched the true bullet, as he had done so many times before. He bolted toward the third creature as it crawled above the ridge. He raised his club and brought it down hard on the neck of the male, causing it to roll back down the hill. Jake turned toward the fourth Clicker, but it was too late. He raised his arm to protect his throat. The large male bit down hard, piercing skin and muscle. Jake screamed from the pain. He quickly removed his knife from his belt, and thrust the eight-inch blade deep into the creature’s chest. The Clicker released its grip and howled. The green blood mixed with the red flowing from Jake’s wound. He stabbed the creature again, then again, until it dropped to the ground, and lay motionless. He heaved the body over the edge of the plateau and yelled down toward the remaining Clickers hidden behind the tree line. “Stop this madness, this senseless killing. I’m not your enemy. I just want to survive. I can’t return your treasure. I won’t, never!”
Once he successfully dispatched the first wave, Jake knew he could take a break. More would come, but not for several hours. He never figured out the strange pattern to their attack cycle, but they always came in waves of two to four, separated by several hours of clicking and howling behind the trees. Then, when they became silent, it would start all over again. He walked back to his tent and removed a strip of cloth from his medical kit. He poured water on his wound to remove the dirt, sprinkled disinfectant along his forearm, and wrapped his wound. He surveyed the scars on his arms, and both his legs that he obtained from similar battles. Then he picked up the recorder. He thought about telling the truth, the real reason for this eternal conflict, but he just couldn’t say it.
“They’ve stopped for now. I have a little time before the next attack. I’ll try to finish this up and launch the communication rocket before they come at me again. At least you’ll know one of us survived the mission and is still here. Not that I expect any rescue attempts. By the time you get this, I’ll probably be an old man. Or perhaps I’ll have been dead for a long time, but at least you’ll know what we learned about this planet. I’ll include all the data Mary collected before she was killed.
“There’s something else, something not on the data disk. As I mentioned before, the females tend to stay in the trees. I believe this behavior is a defensive reaction. There is a disparate ratio of males to females, about twelve to one from the groups I’ve observed. I think this lop sided ratio is a result of the aggressive nature of their mating habits. When the females come into heat, the typically docile males go absolutely insane. When a female chooses a mate, she comes down from the tree to couple. Just before she’s ready to copulate, the silver mane of hair tracing down her back begins to change colors, rippling through all the hues in the spectrum. It’s quite beautiful to watch. Then the female discharges a powerful sweet melon scent that has an intoxicating affect on her mate. This sudden release of such a stimulating aroma causes other males in the area to home in on the bonding pair. During the ensuring confrontation, the females are often severely injured or even killed inadvertently. In an attempt to survive, the females select mates that are the largest of the pack, but have the mildest disposition toward them.”
Jake hesitated. He considered again sharing the truth, but instinctively he knew they would never understand. They would consider him insane, warped. How could they think anything else? If they were isolated on this planet, maybe they could relate to what happened, but they weren’t. Besides, who were they to judge? They weren’t here, living the hell he was. If they were, perhaps they might be more forgiving. Jake took a deep breath and then made his decision. He would tell them what really took place; the terrible flaw in his judgment that had caused this senseless conflict. Hell, he would never see another human again anyway.
“As part of the mating ritual, the males deliver offerings to the females. It reminds me of when humans use flowers, candy and similar gifts to woo the favor of an intended mate, but with one difference. The gifts infer a stronger intent. They are meant to attract the female down from the tree and encourage her to mate. On second thought, maybe it’s not so different from back home, but that’s where I made my mistake. I wanted to take a closer look at the offerings the males placed beneath the treed females and labored so hard to protect. There was something unusual about these gifts. The males behaved as if the offerings were a matter of life and death, each guarding their own pile like it was some valuable treasure. Through the binoculars, many of the gifts appeared to possess a strange crystalline form, almost like processed diamonds and rubies. Maybe it started with a hint of greed. Why I would care about anything of value out here was stupid. I learned too late what they were really protecting, the true treasure. I misinterpreted every damn thing, and for that mistake I’ve paid, over and over. I guess it’s penance for my sins.”
Jake turned toward the deafening silence. “My God, they’re coming again, so soon. They’ve never done this before.”
He turned off the recorder and charged toward the ridge, just in time to catch two Clickers advancing on his location. He raised his crossbow, fired, and killed the first male midair. He stretched the bowstring to reload, but as he turned he saw the second Clicker coiled and ready to pounce. He dropped the crossbow, reached for his dagger, and turned to meet his adversary. The male prepared to launch at its enemy, but became distracted by a mild clicking sound emanating from behind Jake. He caught the unmistakable scent of sweet melon just before the first spear came from behind him and penetrated the ribcage of the male. Then a second spear lodged in its neck, killing it instantly.
Jake took a deep breath, and sighed. He heard the soft footsteps approach from behind. A long tongue gently caressed his neck as a green four-fingered hand dropped a third spear by his side, before gently stroking his arm. He greeted the small female with a smile and a double click to indicate his gratitude for her act of saving his life. As the dark green creature purred, she tenderly wrapped her tail around his leg.
“I know sweetheart, I want you too, but not till the sun goes down.” He pointed at the horizon and arched his hand down below the mountain to indicate nightfall.
The female’s expression signaled disappointment, but then she nodded to show she understood. She gracefully moved back to the base of her resident tree, curled up on a bed of leaves, and remained fixed on the actions of her mate.
He heard the chatter begin again below the ridge and knew they were safe, at least for the moment. He picked two pear shaped fruits off the nearest tree and walked over to the female. Then Jake sat by her side, offered both fruits and slowly stroked her back. He admired the change of colors rippling through the hair running along her mane. It reminded him of Christmas lights sweeping through a rainbow of colors.
He gazed at the expression of contentment on her face, and considered his mistake. The presents that each male offered, their protective response, the gifts were not what they treasured, it was the female. Even at the cost of their lives, the males would do anything to maintain their possession over the female, as
they had proved again and again. Jake pondered the chain of events he had set in motion by his decision four months ago. If he had understood all this in the beginning, would he still have placed his bright red holographic identification tag in the pile of gifts to attract the female down from her tree? Then he realized he would do the same thing all over, change nothing. Even with the attacks, the injuries, the pain, he refused to be alone again.
While the female softly rubbed her face against his leg, Jake recognized his destiny. Just like the male Clickers, he would defend the treasure with his life. The alternative was unbearable. He’d rather be dead then by himself again, like after he lost Mary. Now at least he had a companion, someone to share the lonely nights with, and he would never give that up. Never go back to being isolated on this God-awful planet.
He rubbed behind the female’s left ear. “Perhaps it’s time you have a name. What about Mary? Do you like that?” Then he pulled the medallion out his pocket and clipped it to the chain around her neck that held his identification tag.
Jake felt the female tremble and press into his side as a series of loud howls echoed from below the ridge. “Don’t worry sweetheart. It’s just two more days and then they’ll stop. You’ll always be safe up here with me. I won’t let them take you. You’ll never be hurt again, never . . . I promise, Mary.”
GOOD GENES
Kristine Kathryn Rusch
WHEN Alden was six weeks old, the doctor called them into his office. Ro didn’t want to go. She had a feeling that something was wrong. None of her friends had ever been called to a doctor’s office, especially when there had been no check-up previously, no tests, nothing that would seem out of the ordinary.
Ro’s husband, Gil, reassured her, but he didn’t sound sincere. He didn’t meet her eyes any more, and his ruddy face looked even more flushed than usual. He too knew that things were wrong. They bundled up the baby, whom Ro privately thought too small to be named after his famous great-grandfather, and went to the scheduled appointment.
The doctor’s office was a different place than the waiting room. Ro had been comfortable with the waiting room. It was designed for pregnant women: large, comfortable chairs with good back support, footstools, and a gas fireplace that was in constant use in the winter. A computer in the corner constantly played information about women’s health and reproductive news, and from any of the tables, waiting patients could easily access sites that pertained to childbirth and childrearing.
But the office was around the back of the clinic-actually in a different building altogether-and the waiting area felt like the waiting area of a lawyer or accountant. There was one large window with a spectacular view of the parking lot, and a less spectacular view of the lake across the street and the mountains beyond. The chairs were straight-backed with no armrests, and weren’t wide enough for Alden’s carrier. With some hesitation, Ro put the sleeping baby on the floor.
She leaned over and played with his curly black hair. His tiny fists were curled against his sleeper, the soft blue blanket her parents had given him tucked beneath his chin. She had no idea how this beautiful boy with his dark brown eyes, chocolate skin, and delicate features could be ill. He was developing the way he was supposed to, he ate well, although he still did not sleep through the night.
Gil paced, and somehow that reassured her: if Gil was nervous, then she had a right to be nervous too. Only she didn’t tell him-couldn’t tell him-one of the sources of her nervousness. She didn’t want to be the mother of a sickly child. She had seen those mothers, with their vaguely frantic air despite their protestations that everything was fine and under control. She had seen the despair in their eyes, the way they clung to their babies as if determination alone could prevent whatever tragedy was ahead.
She had clung to Alden that way on the drive over, and had been ashamed of herself. She didn’t even know what the doctor was going to say.
Finally, the androgynous automated voice announced that the doctor was ready to see them. The door to his office swung open, and she grabbed Alden’s carrier, wishing once again that she was in the waiting room at the clinic, where real people called her name and opened the door, and gave her a reassuring smile as they led her into an unfamiliar room.
The doctor’s office smelled faintly of roses. Several tiny hybrids lined a wall just inside. Books-old, dusty, and obviously just for show-lined another wall. The carpet was plush, the desk was messy, and the view here, through the window behind the desk, was of a small fenced-in garden, well tended. She had always known that Dr. Wyatt was a nurturer. It was nice to have that sense confirmed.
He looked as if he belonged behind that desk. He wore a brown sweater with a cream-colored turtleneck beneath it, setting off his mahogany skin. His shaved head shone, and the single diamond he wore in his left ear looked even more prominent than usual. As Ro and Gil entered, he stood and took the carrier from them, smiling down at the sleeping baby.
He ran a finger along Alden’s porcelain cheek. “Ironic,” he murmured so softly that Ro knew he was speaking only to the baby. She shuddered, thinking that a confirmation of all she had feared. Then he smiled at her. “Please sit.”
She waited until he placed the carrier on his desk, on the only bare spot left by the piles of paper. The carrier was turned so that they all could see the boy. He hadn’t moved, but his blanket had. His soft breath made a corner of it flutter ever so slightly.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ro asked, unable to wait.
Gil took her hand in his warm, strong one. She could feel tension in both of their fingers as they braced themselves.
“Nothing,” Dr. Wyatt said.
“Nothing?” And in Gil’s surprised growl, she heard the beginnings of anger. She squeezed his hand, warning him to wait.
“That’s what so wonderful,” Dr. Wyatt said, leaning forward. “We did the standard genetic testing on your son.”
Ro remembered. Genetic testing was required in Oregon, in all but a handful of states now, and the results were supposed to be kept private. In fact, parents could opt not to know what dangers lurked in their child’s genes. Ro and Gil had taken a moderate approach: if the problem was going to be incapacitating or life-threatening they wanted to know. Otherwise, they chose to let the information come to Alden on his eighteenth birthday-a Pandora’s box he could chose to open or not, all on his own.
Gil had stiffened beside her. She knew what he was thinking: incapacitating or fatal. How could Dr. Wyatt call that nothing?
“And we discovered that Alden is only infant we have seen in this clinic, indeed in this part of the state, who had a perfect set of genes.”
“P-perfect?” Ro repeated. She had been so expecting the other, the bad, the horrible news, that the good news was hard to absorb.
“Perfect. No missing genes, no malfunctioning genes, no hereditary diseases. In fact, he is quite the survivor, with some extra genes that have been determined to fight certain viruses. Unless your son has an accident, he will live a long and healthy life.”
Ro frowned. Perfect.
“We used to think,” Dr. Wyatt was saying, “that perfect human beings could be engineered. What we didn’t know until just recently was that perfect human beings already existed. They could be born into a family like yours.”
Gil cleared his throat, and slipped his fingers from Ro’s. He recovered quicker-or at least his brain did. It always had.
“We signed the waiver,” he said. “We weren’t supposed to find out anything like this about Alden.”
“You signed the waiver, yes,” Dr. Wyatt said, “but did you read it?”
Ro glanced at Gil. She had been in labor when they remembered the consent. He had been the one to handle the business details of Alden’s birth. He shrugged. “I scanned it.”
“Then you might have missed one of the clauses in the middle. It addressed this very issue.”
“What issue?” Ro asked.
Dr. Wyatt smiled at her; then he leaned forward
, folding his hands on the desk. She recognized the posture. It was his sincere-explanation posture. Once, another expectant mother had described it to her as his attempt not to patronize his patients.
“We have the capability of growing new organs from various cells. We do a lot of microsurgery, a lot of repair work on the cellular level before we can use some of these organs.” He glanced at Alden, who was still sleeping. “Sometimes we repair genetic defects in the womb. We also do a lot of work with the new techniques, ones that involve injecting new genetic material into old cells, revitalizing them. Some of these procedures are old, some are new, but they all involve the basic building blocks of a human being.”
Ro felt her breath catch. Dr. Wyatt was speaking slowly, giving them a chance to ask questions. Apparently Gil had none. She had a thousand, but didn’t know where to begin asking.
“Private bio-technology companies pay a lot of money to keep cells from people like Alden on file. We have hopes that their perfect DNA will make them useful in all areas of biological and medical sciences. There is already a use for them now.”
“This is about money?” Gil asked.
“It’s about healing,” Dr. Wyatt said. Then he sighed. “There is more.”
“More?” Ro asked.
“If you choose to have more children, any one of these companies will be willing to finance your pregnancies and the first five years of your children’s lives. You have created one genetically perfect child. The chances are you will create another.” His smile was apologetic. “If you don’t want to do that, if you only want one child, then they would pay you quite well for fertilized embryos. In fact, you could do both—”
“Is this a joke?” Gil asked.
“No.” Dr. Wyatt spoke solemnly, reassuringly. “A handful of other couples all over the country have done this already, but cases like this are very rare.”
