by Alma Boykin
“Yes, my lord. All but one implant has successfully taken. The first juniors will be hatched in nine double moons.” The normal gestation of ten months shortened a little for project juniors, since the equivalent of the first double moon of development took place outside the egg-chamber. Oh, Azdhagi developed so slowly during the first two moons, Seeri had moaned while carrying her own first clutch. But that slowness allowed the Makers more time to work with the genetic material and re-implant it without rushing.
“Good. I look forward to the kill at the end of this stalk. It has been a long trail,” he observed, looking around the medical facility. “I detest this place,” and he turned and walked out. Seeri puzzled over the clan lord’s words as she hooked her carry-drag to her carry harness and pulled it out of the long, low building and into the still-hot late evening.
The sun had just set behind the rows of trees marking Bright Spring Stream’s floodway through the small city, and the wind carried the sour scent of ripening tree-fluff pods. It was a mark of how much support Raetee was willing to provide Star-Strong that the Clan would take a hundred able-bodied females out of the workforce this close to tree-fluff harvest. Seeri snorted at the contrasts: the most advanced biotechnology and genetic engineering in the Empire, and yet Azdhagi mechanical technology still failed to help with tree-fluff processing! Well, she allowed, the problem lay in the new super-spinnable and pre-colored varieties of tree-fluff, not the traditional short-fiber white kind. Something about the proteins in the longer fibers causing them to stick to the husks more than the old kind, requiring forefoot-labor to get every last bit of fluff out of the husks, she recalled. The botanical geneticists were already working on the problem.
The green female stretched her forelegs before walking toward her transport. The rest of the implant team had already left for Central City, but Seeri had taken her time going through all the data and had cleaned the Clan’s implant tools herself. The Makers had borrowed two sets, rather than delaying the last of the implantations. She’d made a note to obtain more sets for their own use.
As she stowed her equipment in the back of the roller cart, Seeri thought about the day’s work. In some ways she disliked doing everything all at once. It would have been better to stagger the implantations like they usually did for a Clan, but all of Raetee’s female volunteers had come ready within a day of each other. One more legacy of over inbreeding, the geneticist snorted as she clambered into her seat, locked the safety harness and started the engine. She looked around for stray juniors before engaging the roller’s drive and trundling away from Bright Spring. I don’t think there is more than one degree of out-cross in all the females we sampled. Which explained the simultaneous mate-readiness and the clan’s eagerness to participate: anything to break up the genetic bottleneck. Except that they won’t out-breed any more with the augmentation than before it, and she caught herself making a negation. Both forefeet on the steering pads! She heard her driving instructor snarl yet again. Once she reached the main road she could engage auto-steer, but not before then. Raetee Clan preferred not to “spoil the landscape” with the necessary towers and wires to have auto-steer on their lands. They are too close with the credits is what they are, the green female snorted yet again.
In fact, being too close with other things explained why Lord Raetee “detested” the medical facility, Seeri remembered as she peered to the weak and strong sides, looking for other traffic before accelerating toward the main transport route. None of his offspring by either of his mates had survived to adulthood save one male, and that one… Seeri almost felt sorry for the Clan Lord, except that fault rested squarely within the Clan. You have to out-cross!
She growled a curse as a grain wagon trundled onto the road in front of her, forcing her to slow down. Seeri was tired and wanted to get back to her own dwelling and to share her success with her mate. Kartee worked on Pokara, the closest of the colony worlds, and tonight would be the first time in half a year that he’d been able to sync communications with her schedule. Azdhagi could master space travel and genetic engineering, but not time differences. Although, if Seeri had her way and the hunt proved successful, that might also change. As she mused, she felt the gentle bump and heard the engagement chime as the roller’s auto-steer system engaged. She could relax for the two hours or so before reaching Central City’s research sector and the departure ramp for her residence.
Sleer, the head of medical oversight for Star-Strong, tapped on Seeri’s doorframe two double moons after the team finished the implantations for Raetee Clan. “Do you have any more data on the clutch loss at Raetee Clan,” the green-blotched male began without waiting for acknowledgment.
Seeri swirled her forefoot in negation. Sleer’s tail rumpled with puzzlement, then he turned to go. “Why?”
“Oh, just that the failure rates for the out-Clan implantations in Sea Gate seem to be running below modeled average, and I wanted to have Teek run real-time comparisons. If the pattern is holding, we could accelerate the modifications and implantations, because the medical guild has issued tentative approval based on the improved out-Clan results.”
“I’ll get the data if I have to walk to Bright Spring and count females myself!” Seeri entered the call code for the medical contact at Bright Spring and her tail tip wagged with impatience as she waited for the nurse to acknowledge the call. “Listen in,” she ordered and Sleer eased into the room, staying out of sight of the visual pick-up.
“Bright Spring medical center,” a dark green male said, appearing on the call display.
“Good morning. This is Maker Seeri. I need to speak with someone about the progress of the implants,” she began, skipping over the customary formalities in her hurry.
The male blinked a few times, then reached for something just off screen. He faded and a new face appeared, Lord Raetee’s. “Yes?”
“Ah, Lord Raetee, Maker Seeri. My lord, I apologize for disturbing you but I need to speak to someone about the current success of the Star-Strong implants.” She forced herself to slow down; Raetee could be touchy about protocol.
“Your ancestors must have been masterful ambush hunters, Maker Seeri, because I have the report here,” and he held up a portable data-reader. “Do you want details now, or a general summary before I read it again and then forward it?”
Seeri all but danced on her bench, then settled down, ready to transcribe the data. “A general summary will be perfect, my lord.”
He waved through several pages of data, then read, “Of the hundred implants initiated in Raetee, eighty survived the first moon. Six twelves remain intact as of yesterday evening.” The dark brown reptile blinked dark green eyes and added, “None of the implanted females show any signs of maternal difficulty and all remain in good health.”
“Thank you very much, Lord Raetee,” and Seeri dipped her head in a form of bow. “This is exactly what I needed and I am pleased that all goes so well.”
“Not as pleased as I, Maker Seeri. Raetee out,” and he terminated the link. Too happy to take offense at the abrupt dismissal, Seeri quickly put the data into the project’s official reporting format and sent it to Teek’s e-comm file. “Well?” she asked the waiting Sleer.
He tapped some on his data pad and then passed it to his supervisor. She looked at the results and let her tail sweep in a huge circle of pleasure. “That’s better than Sea Gate! The ethics board of the medical guild should have no problem permitting us to widen our volunteer recruiting.”
Two hours later Seeri found Chersee, the lead genetics technician, studying a three-dimensional projection of the Star-Strong DNA segment. The light green striped male had enlarged the critical segments enough to show every detail, and he sat on his bench, comparing the DNA to a set of known gene codes. “Chersee, have you been able to accelerate the modification and gene activation process yet?”
His forefoot swirled partway, then cut back. “Yes and no, Maker Seeri. Yes, there is a way to accelerate the process, by increasi
ng the cut speed of the equipment in the third phase, prior to the critical step. However, I’m not happy with it yet.”
As she started to ask why, Seeri saw the projection shift to an animation of the process. A nano-blade slid into the gene sequence between a silent gene and Meto-2, the gene responsible for increasing an Azdhag’s metabolism via improving protein use efficiency. The blade trimmed away half the silent gene in the process of making enough space beside Meto-2 to allow the necessary enzyme to do its work. “That is what bothers me, Maker Seeri.” He rewound the animation to the cutting moment, then stopped it and circled the silent gene with his thumb and third-toe forefoot talons. “The standard process already damages the silent gene beside Meto-2 and the one between Psi 1 and 2. At a higher rate of speed even more damage occurs, and we just do not know enough about these silent genes’ roles for me to be completely comfortable with the process.”
Seeri dipped her head, acknowledging his point as she thought about the problem. “Have you seen any consequences thus far in the test specimens?”
“No, none in either the animals or the gene samples. And everything has reconnected correctly thus far in all the test specimens we have destroyed, at all stages of development.” The animation faded, replaced with the projection of the DNA. Chersee rumpled his tail.
“We’ll keep watching, then, and go a little slower on the mechanization process,” Seeri decided. They had more than enough volunteers among the out-Clan, even as discreet as the personnel office had been.
The relatively enormous number of out-Clan volunteers both pleased and worried Seeri. She liked the large number of mixed-lineage embryos available. Among other things, it confirmed that psionic abilities existed in all Azdhagi, not just among the nobility or Clans. Ensuring that the true nature of the project remained quiet posed a problem, but thus far everyone, including the tabloid track-sniffers, had accepted the story that Star-Strong was a very small, restricted-participant research program looking for a cure for light-weight among common-born juniors. In fact, the story had gone over so well that the researchers and participating Clan heads told the same thing to all the Clans except Raetee and Peitak. It was not a complete untruth: the second generation should be larger because of the improved metabolic efficiency.
Seeri rubbed under her muzzle after settling back onto her office bench. She still wanted more Clan-born and nobles to participate. Already larger and healthier than many of the out-Clan, the offspring from the Clan-born might develop even faster than the models projected. And several of the lineages seemed to have more individuals with near-psi abilities. Kirlin, for example, and Seeri’s tail thrashed with frustration at Lord Kirlin’s intransigence. “Ask for volunteers,” he’d said, “but know that I’m not in favor of this project. And we barely have any cases of light-weight, so you’d best find another story.” That alone cost the project one of the best pools of genetic stock available, since only twelve Clan members volunteered out of the hundreds asked. Clan Beerkali flat refused to participate, eliminating another population. Well, she reminded herself yet again, they’ll regret their decision soon enough. They’ll be left to stew while common-born Azdhagi grow and thrive.
And with that delicious thought, Maker Seeri called up the information on the next cohort of volunteers, these from the mining settlements around Cloudwash.
2. Passing Generations
Central City, Sseekhala, Drakon IV, One Year, Three Double Moons BGR (2658 Old Style)
Inspector Kirlak hated doing autopsies on juniors anyway, but classified autopsies such as this one truly put a kink in her tail. To make things worse, two of the Makers insisted on observing, complicating what should have been a standard procedure. The reptile grumbled to herself as she finished reading the deceased’s information. “Sex, male; age, five double moons; growth phase, not commenced; length, forty centimeters; weight, six kilos,” she noted, then stopped abruptly. “Preexisting medical conditions, blindness and failure to grow,” the pathologist read, and shivered. “Oh no. Not another one. By the Lone God, what is going on?”
Kirlak pulled on her work-gown, strapped a breathing mask over her nostrils, and walked to the autopsy chamber. The Makers, also gowned and masked, stood outside the central work ring, up on their hind legs and leaning on the railing so that they could see better. Kirlak’s assistant gave his boss a sympathetic look and made a slightly rude gesture under the cover of pulling gloves over his forefeet. The pathologist couldn’t scold him too much, not given what she knew that they would find when they pulled back the privacy cover. At Kirlak’s signal, Coree turned on the chamber’s dictation recording system and recited the deceased’s name, lineage (“out-Clan, parental lineage unknown”), and other data. As he spoke, Kirlak rose onto her hind legs and pulled the cover off the dissection table, stifling a quiet moan as she saw the deceased.
Kirlak’s male clutch-mate, a physician specializing in juniors, called it “deathtouch,” because one look at the newly hatched males told physicians everything. Hyperpigmentosis caused black skin, black talons, black gums and teeth, and blind black eyes. However, the coloring and blindness were the least of the junior’s problems, because they signaled the presence of several metabolic malfunctions and immune system complications. Juniors afflicted with deathtouch never lived long enough to begin their first rapid growth phase. Instead they grew slowly for a few sixts to double-moons and then died of organ failure. The small body lying on the table was the fifth that Kirlak had seen in a year-turn.
After finishing the autopsy, Kirlak and her assistant returned to the pathologist’s work chamber. They read the transcript of the autopsy, corrected one error where the computer tried to record a sneeze as “atherosclerosis,” and then Kirlak added a note that tissue samples had been taken and the results of the tissue tests would be added to the final autopsy report at a later date. Then the two signed the preliminary autopsy report and sent an edited version off to the junior’s family, and full versions to the sending medical facility and the archive. Only then did Kirlak and Coree discuss the morning’s procedure.
“Ma’am, is there a good reason why Makers have wanted to observe so many juniors’ procedures recently?”
Kirlak poured herself a cup of tea and settled onto her bench, then waved her free forefoot in negation. “Not just juniors, Coree. Tsae says they stood in on several adult autopsies, starting, oh, five sixts ago or so. Maker Tsae told Rolitt that it is related to work for disease control on Pokara, but wouldn’t give any more details.”
The male shuddered at the mention of the troubled colony planet and made a warding off sign with his hindfoot. “My clutchmate told me a little about that place in his last message to our sire and dam. He’s got a bigger set than I have, to volunteer to go and live in that wilderness. He said that whatever does not make you sick will claw or thorn you.”
“Not a fan of uncivilized existence, Coree?”
“No Ma’am! I did my service on Sidara and I like being the top of the food chain, thank you.” The desert-tan reptile waved his forefoot vehemently, adding, “Camping and fighting are one thing, but attack-trees are too much.”
Kirlak waved her tail in agreement, finished her tea, and then called up their next autopsy. “Twenty year-turns in age male found with severe talon lacerations to his body and a piece of iron rod in his brain-pan. Died while en-route to medical treatment. The peace keepers on scene noticed that the marks seemed uneven and wondered if ‘Four Claws’ might have been involved.” She entered some commands and called up a map that showed where the body had been found. “It is the right area, assuming the victim was not moved and that no one is trying to copy-kill.”
Coree hissed something under his breath, then sighed aloud, “So, two credits that Cheerka drops by before sunset tomorrow.”
“Three and before midday,” Kirlak countered. The story-catcher never kept his muzzle out of anything that might shock readers into subscribing to his newsfeed, and this kind of violent death would attr
act him like a bloated carcass attracted flies. “OK, back to work. I need you to run correlations on three data sets. One of the public-health defenders has been worrying Tsae like a kirpak on a slow shootee over some ‘suspicious deaths’ in the river district. Tsae wants something to use when he reminds her that people tend to die wherever they damn well please.” The sooner they got the data hunt and the next autopsy taken care of, the sooner Kirlak could clock out and go bask. She hated being shut inside on a hot day like this one.
Meanwhile, four twelves of kliqs to the west of Central City, Maker Tsae listened to his two subordinates as they reported their observations from the autopsy. “Did the pathologist give an official cause of death?”
“Massive internal bleeding, sir. Most of the blood vessels within the main organs had been damaged to some extent, and two of the junior’s arteries gave way,” one of the reptiles reported. “As usual, the male also showed hyperpigmentosis.”
“Thank you. Send me your full report. Tsae out.” The bright green reptile abruptly terminated the transmission before his associates could see his neck-spines beginning to rise with fear. The lead scientist hauled himself off of his bench and went out into the midsummer sunlight. He found an unoccupied bench in a corner of the research campus and settled onto it, letting the hot stones bake out some of his disquiet.
The day’s report brought the number of dead, black male juniors to over a thousand from all over the planet. These were the first cohort of the fifth generation since the beginning of Project Star-Strong, and Tsae knew that this should not be happening. According to what few scraps remained of his predecessors’ notes and data, no problems survived the third generation of project participants. So they could not pass on any corrupt genes, and so what he saw was not happening, could not be happening. Maybe it was a random development, Tsae thought, pulling his data pad out of a pocket in his robe and making some notes. He had not yet sorted the deaths by lineage, parental lineage, parental occupation, or colonial activity.
