Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  But suppose they tried an entirely different approach? Raincloud’s question had set him wondering.

  “Look here,” he told Pirin. “If our aim is for Elysians to make babies with their own genes, why not work with the chromosomes they’ve got? Why alter them?”

  Tulle looked up from the capuchin, which nibbled tidbits out of her hand.

  Pirin asked, “What are you getting at?”

  Blackbear leaned on the counter. “In ‘normal’ mortal humans,” he said, avoiding the term “defective,” “you can generate germ cells out of undifferentiated tissue in the bone marrow. You put them into preovarian host tissue; then a substance from the culture attracts the new germ cells to migrate in and form egg cells—”

  Pirin raised a hand. “Elysian cells won’t do it. Even if you can trick the germ cells into migrating, at meiosis, when the chromosomes ‘cross over,’ they’ll all fall apart. It’s because of the longevity treatment, which modifies the chromosomal DNA, adding acetyl groups, glucosamines, and so on. Elysian chromosomes are designed to avoid crossover, which in later life leads to defects and aging.”

  “Suppose you reverse the longevity modifications,” Blackbear proposed. “Isolate the chromosomes and remove all their acetyl groups and glucosamines. Put back the methyl groups at all their natural positions.” It sounded like a tall order, for an entire genome of DNA, but no harder than the longevity treatment itself. “Put the chromosomes back into the germ cells, and make the egg cells. Then after fertilization, just redo the longevity treatment as usual.”

  Pirin listened in silence. “It should work,” he admitted reluctantly. “It seems rather a brute force approach.” The Elysian student preferred more subtle points of developmental control.

  “I like it,” said Onyx. “Why not? It would take a massive programming job on the nanomanipulaters, adjusting all those million methyl groups. But why not?”

  “It could be done,” said Tulle. “I’m not sure, however, that I could justify a project of that size within the scope of my longevity research. And the expense would be prohibitive for the average citizen.”

  What was expensive for Elysians would be out of sight for Bronze Skyans. Blackbear sighed. He thought again of Falcon Soaring, whose problem was trivial by comparison; if only she would try that clinic in Founders City.

  “Still, you’ve got a point.” Tulle fed her capuchin another treat from the food window. “If we can do it—why not? If people buy it, the technology will improve and the cost will come down.”

  Draeg looked over. “Sounds great, Brother. You’ll really get the Killer after you, now.”

  “I know.” Tulle crossed her arms on the table, her eyes filled with sudden intensity. “That’s exactly what I have in mind. Why not force the issue? Let the citizens decide whether they want children of their own.”

  “It’s a gamble,” Onyx warned her. “It could put us all out of business.”

  “That may happen anyway,” said Draeg, “now that Kal’s gone to the Sharers behind our back.”

  BLACKBEAR WALKED SLOWLY DOWN TO THE TISSUE culture lab. Several other variants of Eyeless awaited trial in the simbrid embryo, yet now, somehow they seemed beside the point. He found himself wandering back to the coffee room, which was deserted now save for a news show on the holostage.

  In the column of light a familiar figure caught his eye. Curious, he drew near, trying to place the figure, an Elysian goddess wearing orange-coin butterflies. It was Raincloud’s friend Iras Letheshon. Iras was being led down the street-tunnel by an ominous pair of octopods, their limbs waving back and forth like elephant trunks.

  “…one of Helicon’s wealthiest citizens was taken into custody on her third visiting violation,” the voice-over explained, “after working ten days straight to broker a settlement of the L’liite credit crisis. She may now be reached in person only, for purposes of visiting, at the Palace of Rest.”

  So Iras had finally got in trouble. Fascinated and repulsed, he stared at her train retreating between the implacable pair of servos.

  Raincloud would want to know, he thought. “Please find Raincloud Windclan,” he told the holostage.

  Raincloud appeared at a press conference in the Nucleus, along with those overdressed L’liites. He would not interrupt her, after all; but there was no harm in watching her a bit. He was getting over his timidity at “looking in” on people, an Elysian pastime. He especially adored peeking at Raincloud now and then. Unfortunately the shon was off limits to the public, else he could have watched Hawktalon, too. So he next looked in on Alin, who was conducting a logathlon somewhere.

  Then he remembered Kal’s unexpected call upon Raincloud. “Find Kal Anaeashon,” he tried.

  The diminutive silver-haired logen appeared on the holostage, striding down Elysian Fields Boulevard with his white train floating behind, his students in brighter colors beside him. There must be hidden cameras everywhere, Blackbear thought suddenly, even in the middle of the street. At any rate, Kal was occupied. With a sigh, Blackbear turned and headed back to work.

  At lunchtime he had some trouble dragging Sunflower away from the toybox, but he managed at last, promising the boy could chase butterflies at the garden. They went to the butterfly pavilion as usual, the same one where Alin had taken him the first day.

  To his surprise, as he entered, he saw Kal seated alone at a small table shaped like a half-moon. Even at a distance the man was unmistakable, his white talar adorned only by the one dried leaf. Blackbear had never seen Kal in this neighborhood, except for the day the logen had appeared to challenge Tulle.

  His pulse raced. He walked over boldly and sat down at the table opposite Kal.

  “I am honored,” said Kal with a nod.

  Sunflower tiptoed over to the bench. “Where is my teddy bear?” the child demanded, much to Blackbear’s chagrin.

  “I am so sorry,” Kal said in a low voice. “Teddy is at home, but I’ll bring him next time. And where is your excellent trainsweep?”

  “Trainsweep?” echoed Sunflower eagerly. “Where’s Doggie? Let’s go find Doggie now, Daddy.”

  “No Doggie,” said Blackbear firmly. “They came to take the trainsweep away,” he explained to Kal. “They said she was dangerous.”

  “They took her away? Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kal sighed. “Cassi will be sad to hear that.”

  Blackbear had told no one but Draeg what really became of the trainsweep. “How could Doggie be dangerous?” he asked.

  “Her responses might have become unbalanced. She might have hurt your children.” Kal paused. “Then again, she might simply have developed a mind of her own. That would be the most dangerous of all.”

  “Let’s find Doggie,” Sunflower persisted.

  A servo waiter offered a tray of flower cakes that tasted of fruit and cinnamon. “Here, Sunny, have one,” Blackbear offered.

  The child stuffed three in his mouth.

  “Look.” Kal’s voice suddenly intensified as he pointed to a low-hanging branch. “Do you see that caterpillar? It is just forming its chrysalis…”

  Blackbear blinked twice. Then his eyes caught it in focus. Hanging from the branch, the caterpillar had spun a thick cord of silk to secure itself. Its skin was already splitting over its head, to reveal the shiny pupal surface. Deep within, an incredible pattern of changes would gradually reshape the body, just as his embryos reshaped themselves.

  “How is your project going?” Kal asked. “Your Eyeless gene?”

  “We have a new plan,” Blackbear told him defiantly. “We can get around the fertility problem by undoing part of the longevity treatment of Elysian chromosomes, and making germ cells in tissue culture.”

  Kal’s eye widened. Then he asked, “Why not just make synthetic chromosomes from scratch? You could do that, I suppose.”

  Taken aback, Blackbear thought a moment. He shrugged. “It could be done, but it isn’t necessary. The modifications will do.” He added, “You can tell that to the Sharers, too.”r />
  For a moment Kal seemed to withdraw. He passed his hand down over his face, as though he was tired, and he looked away. Then he looked up again. “You like this,” he observed. “You think it’s wonderful.”

  “It’s breathtaking…the power of creation.” It was true; despite the frustrations, the excitement of a new discovery had a power all its own, beyond even that of extracting newborns on a hillside beneath a blood-dusted sky.

  “Wonderful,” Kal repeated. “Manufacturing human beings, more like servos every day. I should watch your work more closely, but this term I had to take on a second section of philosophy. I don’t even keep up my visiting.”

  “You may end up in the ‘Palace of Rest,’” warned Blackbear, thinking of Iras.

  Kal laughed, and for a moment his face was transformed, an altogether different person, someone who enjoyed the absurdity of life. “You’re right,” said Kal. “I could end up in the Palace of Rest, for missing visitors. Students don’t count.”

  “What exactly do you teach your students?” Blackbear asked curiously.

  Kal thought a moment. “The ancients put the question, ‘What is man?’ What women were was obvious: Women were makers of children. Later, as children took less of our time, women had to ask the same question. Today, it’s the only question left.”

  Blackbear frowned, puzzled. “Goddesses bear the children, but men raise them. Both serve the Dark One.”

  Kal’s eyes widened. “Is that right? Thanks for teaching me this. Your view of humanity is nearly as striking as the Sharers’.”

  His eyes narrowed, suspicious that the logen was laughing at him.

  “For Sharers,” Kal went on, “to be human is to share; no other relation exists. For you Clickers, to be human is to serve…”

  “To serve children, and one’s goddess, and the Dark One.”

  “And the Dark One. Now, in Elysium, who serves?”

  Blackbear thought a moment, then he smiled. “No wonder your machines seem more like humans.”

  “More human than the humans, you mean. Never mind, I take no offense. Now, the Urulite view is exactly the reverse of the Clickers: To be human is to master, to master men, women, and chattel.”

  “Even enslave them.”

  “Even so. Urulites have even more trouble with us Elysians than you do.” Kal’s eyes smiled, as if enjoying a joke. “The Valans, now, are like tamed Urulites; instead of mastery, possession of material goods.”

  Blackbear thought of Onyx, with her ropes of stone beads and her cheerful competence. “Valans are good people,” he muttered.

  “Of course they are. No wonder the L’liites aspire to their example. But for L’liites, to be human is to suffer. They will suffer on, and demand ever more in the name of suffering, and never come to stand on their own feet.”

  This last observation seemed less than charitable. “Now that you’ve put everyone else in a box, what about Elysians?”

  “To be Elysian is to rejoice. To pursue joy forever.”

  The unexpected reply silenced him.

  “If we don’t age, what other pursuit makes sense? Though of course,” Kal went on, “there are complications. We Anaeans, for instance, tend to think too much, which gets in the way of rejoicing.”

  For the moment, Blackbear thought, his head was full enough of thinking. He noticed Sunflower clutching at his pants.

  Kal started to rise from his seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I won’t keep you from your work. Thank you; it’s been a pleasure. Again, I am sorry about your trainsweep.”

  Blackbear’s heart beat faster. “They didn’t take the trainsweep,” he admitted suddenly. “We…”

  Kal looked at him. “Transmitter off, please,” he told the table.

  “Transmitter off, Citizen,” said a soft voice from the table. “Two hundred credits per minute.”

  “We left her with the Sharers, on their raft,” Blackbear went on hurriedly, vastly relieved to tell someone. “She won’t hurt them, will she?”

  “Hurt them? No, I’m sure she won’t. The Sharers, you say?”

  “They took her in, as a fugitive. It was Raincloud’s idea…”

  A look of amazement came over Kal’s face. “The Sharers took in a trainsweep as a fugitive?” He shook his head slowly. “As a fugitive, literally? You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Raincloud speaks their language.”

  Seconds passed. Kal was paying good credits for this silence. “And you,” he said at last, “you accuse me of stirring up trouble with the Sharers.”

  Chapter 5

  AT DINNER RAINCLOUD SHOOK HER HEAD OVER IRAS. “Of course, we all knew she was in trouble…” No matter where they went “visiting,” Iras was sure to be cutting one billion-credit deal or another. And since the L’liite crisis, she had thrown all caution to the winds. “But still—how could a citizen be dragged off by those horrid octopods, just like that?”

  “Goddess knows.” Blackbear chewed thoughtfully on his roast venison with black mushroom sauce. “Is there no court system, not even a hearing?”

  “Maybe the house knows. Do you, House?”

  “Certainly, Citizen,” the house replied. “Elysium has no court system because there is no crime.”

  “But—but those octopods dragged her off.”

  “Escorted her,” corrected the house. “She could have refused. She has before.”

  “But…then why go along?”

  “Refusal gets expensive. Besides, everyone needs a vacation. Our system is so humane.”

  Blackbear shook his head, quite confused. “Who decides the verdict, and the sentence?”

  “The City is an impartial observer.”

  The “City,” he realized, meant the omniscient servo network. “No courts, no trial—you can’t run a city that way,” he insisted.

  Raincloud said, “Maybe not Founders City, but what about Tumbling Rock? When did we last have a trial?”

  He thought a moment. He could not remember ever having a trial in Tumbling Rock. Any dispute, whether over a stolen goat or a faithless consort, was taken straight to the Priestess.

  From around the dinner table, Sunflower crept over and nudged Raincloud’s shoulder with his little chin. “Ready for dessert, Mother.”

  On his plate, his grilled cheese was barely touched.

  Raincloud squeezed him tenderly but said, “Finish your dinner, please.”

  Sunflower’s lower lip thrust forward, and the corners of his mouth drooped dramatically. His little brow furrowed in. Returning to his place, he emptied his plate on the floor. “I finished it.”

  A floor servo scuttled over and cleaned it up. Hawktalon laughed and clapped her hands.

  “Enough, both of you,” said Raincloud angrily. “No dessert, for such a waste of food.”

  “It’s not wasted, Mum,” Hawktalon said. “It all goes back to the matter processor. I know more than you do now about servos.”

  Sunflower tugged Raincloud’s arm and screamed in her ear, “I want dessert, Mother!”

  “It’s those flower cakes,” Blackbear explained apologetically. “He can’t get enough of them.”

  Hawktalon added, “I’m building a servo at the shon. But not just a fancy toy, like the other children. I’m going to build a real servo that does something really important.”

  THE PALACE OF REST WAS A TOWERING STRUCTURE THAT penetrated three street levels. Its shape reminded Raincloud of an overstacked ice-cream cone. The entrance corridor gave off into doorways that opened at unnerving angles. Raincloud hesitated, certain she would get lost in such a maze.

  Iras came for her. She walked slowly for a change, like someone who had no particular place to go. She wore a plain talar of pale yellow, with a single butterfly at the shoulder. And her hair was done up in Clicker braids.

  “How are you?” Raincloud asked uncertainly, her attention caught by the flame-colored braids.

  Iras smiled with her usual dimples. “I’m fine. It was quite dramatic,
really. They came for me at the Bank, while I had five different clients in view—”

  “No discussion,” breathed the house voice, low and soothing. “We permit no discussion of professional matters. You may rest assured, Citizen, that all your affairs are in good hands.”

  Annoyed, Raincloud looked around her. Houses were rarely so prescriptive. “How could they just pick you up? Can’t you at least call a logen?”

  “I could.”

  “But you’re in prison!”

  “Palace of Rest,” Iras corrected. “The City has determined that I belong here, for my health. It’s only for two weeks.”

  “But your affairs at the Bank—who will—”

  “No discussion,” repeated the house.

  “It’s useless, you see,” said Iras. “We’ll have to talk about acrobats or something.”

  “Well, I can tell you what I’ve been up to,” Raincloud offered. “The L’liites treat me royally.”

  “Not surprising, is it?” Bronze Sky was the L’liites’ main source of imported grains. They had sent extravagant gifts, even a new evening talar and train for Blackbear, if she could ever get him to wear it. Her own Elysian robe was getting tight around her expanding midsection, where the little hiccups and legs kicking could erupt at any moment. “The L’liites had a press conference,” she added. “They’re demanding a write-off of their defaulted loan, on the basis that—”

  “No discussion,” breathed the voice again. “We may be required to request your departure, Citizen.”

  She restrained herself from a dishonorable remark, and Iras laughed. “How can you laugh?” demanded Raincloud. “I’d break out of this place in a minute.”

  “Oh no you wouldn’t. Come see how I’m entertained.”

  Raincloud followed her down a winding corridor, wondering uneasily whether her friend had been drugged. The light grew dim, except for doorways on either side. The first doorway opened out onto a steep hillside, blowing with the scent of grass and wildflowers.