Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  The listeners laughed appreciatively.

  “You are my honored guest,” Hyen added. “We are always honored to receive another guest from the sea.” Kal’s aversion to the ocean was well-known; he had not been outside a city since his mate died on Kshiri-el.

  “And so many guests from the greater ocean of the Fold,” Kal added. “Ships call from a dozen worlds; scientists immortalize our chromosomes; machines feed our every desire. The Heliconian Doctors would scarcely recognize us today.”

  “We fulfilled their greatest hopes,” Hyen said. “We have become what they dreamed of. We are the envy of all other worlds.”

  “Others envy us. They send their own doctors to learn our secrets.” Though none would pay the price Elysians paid, of engineering themselves infertile.

  “Medical engineering is but one of the wonders we offer to other worlds.”

  “That is true,” said Kal. “There is planet-shaping technology, for instance.”

  “As you know, my good logen, planet-shaping is not a major industry of our own. We finance all kinds of industries on other worlds.”

  “Of course, excuse me,” said Kal, slightly raising his voice. “Thanks for clarifying the point. You’re right: we Elysians do not shape planets on our own.”

  Lem looked sideways at Verid, clearly wondering what Kal might be getting at. Verid watched uneasily; Hyen did not like surprises.

  “There’s no need for small talk,” Hyen said, deciding to take the high ground. “I understand why you’re here, Kal. It’s so difficult for us, isn’t it, to watch other worlds face agonizing choices that we can afford to avoid. All life is sacred.” The golden sash gleamed benevolently.

  “As you say, Guardian, all life is sacred. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the billions of species we lost on Bronze Sky.”

  “Nor need I remind you of the six million representative species we saved, in preserves throughout Elysium and Valedon. Ten percent of our profits went to preservation. Next time, I pledge to set aside at least that proportion. You see why it is so important for Elysium to be the one to sponsor the preparation of new worlds.”

  “Yes, I see,” said Kal, so quietly that the microphones had to sift his voice from the background. “Other worlds envy us, I suppose, not just for our medical science, but for our moral conscience as well.”

  “Let others speak to that,” said Hyen. “Who has done better?”

  “I wonder,” said Kal. “I wonder whether other worlds envy us for more for our own mode of existence, here, on Shora.”

  Hyen smiled and shook his head paternally. “It’s a fine myth, but really, Kal, as you know, Shora’s biosphere today is a far remove from what it was before the Sharers moved in. In their own way, the Sharers ‘terraformed’ Shora.”

  “Exactly,” said Kal, suddenly louder. “There you are, Guardian; you’ve got the answer. Why don’t we ‘terraform’ the way the Sharers did?”

  The Prime Guardian hesitated, his smile frozen.

  “I can’t imagine why no one else thought of it before,” Kal went on as if praising a clever student. “As you say, with our moral sensibilities, we ought to manage the business ourselves. Why not do it ourselves, not with Valan white holes to blast a planet, but with our own homegrown genetic science?”

  Hyen managed a laugh. “Surely you jest, my friend. It can’t be done—and, as I’ve said, it would hardly be worth the effort.”

  “It’s been ten thousand years since Shora was settled. Technology has vastly improved. We can learn from the Sharers’ mistakes. We can ‘lifeshape’ a planet’s inhabitants—native and human—to share a biosphere.”

  “Enough,” said Hyen, losing patience. “What you propose is just a logen’s trick with words. It’s preposterous.”

  “Has it been tried? Have studies been done?”

  “You can’t engineer a planetful of immigrants. You can’t expect people to grow webbed feet or plated exoskeletons, or whatever they need to survive in an alien biosphere.”

  “It’s really more a matter of biochemistry, isn’t it?” Kal went on. “We Elysians have massively altered our own biochemistry. To be sure, we pay a price in ‘defectives’; but it’s well worth the risk. Why can’t others do the same?”

  BACK AT THE NUCLEUS, VERID FOUND A DOZEN CALLS waiting. The Valan ambassador was the most pressing.

  “See here, Verid; I don’t need to tell you, this is absolutely unacceptable.” The bejeweled man towered over her on the holostage. “Unacceptable, you understand? We can’t allow the slightest suggestion of ‘lifeshaping’ a large population.”

  “I understand, Lord Sardonyx.” Kal had done it again, even worse than she had feared. “I understand how your people feel about genetic engineering.” And about the rejection of their lucrative white hole devices. “Nevertheless, such concepts have been studied before, and they may be studied again.”

  “Out of the question,” the ambassador insisted. “There would be riots in our cities.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “It’s just a logathlon.” She hoped she was right.

  THE NEXT DAY WAS RAINCLOUD’S VISITING DAY, AND she enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Sunflower, while Hawktalon was busy in her room conversing with Doggie. Much to Raincloud’s relief, Morilla had gone home to her mother, who might be encouraged to talk again.

  Sunflower’s oatmeal spattered across the table. He collapsed in a fit of giggles.

  “Sunny,” his mother called, “sit up straight and hold your spoon properly.”

  “Sit-up-straight-and-hold-your-spoon-properly,” he repeated carefully. He was becoming a regular echo.

  Hawktalon bounced into the kitchen, twining a braid around her finger. “Doggie wants me to visit her friends today,” she announced.

  “What?”

  “It’s my Visiting Day, too, isn’t it? Even the house gets Visiting Days now; why don’t I?”

  Blackbear came in with the baby on his shoulder. “Good morning, Hawk.” He patted her arm, and she tried to flip him over. “Goddess—these kids are getting dangerous.”

  “Hawktalon, you behave,” her mother warned, “or I’ll send you back to the shon.”

  “Great. Me and Doggie will take over the place.”

  “Good morning, Citizens,” announced the house suddenly. “You haven’t had the news on yet, have you?”

  “No, what of it?” said Blackbear.

  “I just thought you might be interested, that’s all.”

  Raincloud raised an eyebrow. “If you think so.” The logathlon ought to be decided by now, with all the votes in. Rising from the table, she went out to the holostage.

  On the holostage appeared the front entrance to the nuclear reticulum, flanked by a pair of Sharers in whitetrance. “The viewers favored the challenger, by a decisive margin,” said the servo voice. “A growing number of prominent citizens have followed the lead of the generen, demanding that Hyen rescind approval of the Solarian development loan and study ‘alternatives’ to planet-shaping. Valedon and L’li have threatened to recall their ambassadors if any genetic ‘alternatives’ are proposed. Several Guardians have called for an early rotation. Since the Prime’s successor, Loris Anaeashon, favors expulsion of Sharer witnessers, the future looks unclear…”

  Behind her, as he bounced the baby gently, Blackbear shook his head. “Sounds like trouble in your department,” he told Raincloud. “A good thing it’s your Visiting Day.”

  Chapter 5

  AT THE LAB DRAEG WAS BACK AGAIN, A QUIETER VERSION of his old self. He got his work done without comment, rarely straying even to play with Hawktalon in the lounge. “My niece was just her age,” he muttered to Blackbear, the only one besides Tulle whom he spoke to now.

  “It’s a sad business,” Blackbear agreed, kneading Draeg’s shoulder comfortingly. “You know, Kal gave the Prime Guardian a real hard time about that deal with the L’liites.” He could not resist the chance to get in a good word for his fr
iend.

  “The Killer? He’d stir up trouble for any reason, good or bad.” Draeg shook his head. “You’ll see how it is. The only good Elysian is a dead one.”

  “Come on. Tulle is a good Elysian.”

  Draeg thought a moment. “Tulle is different; she’s a scientist. The rest—damn the lot of them, and the Valans and Solarians too.”

  The L’liites were responsible for their own population problem, Blackbear thought, although he did not say so. Then abruptly a vision of the Hills replaced L’li in his mind, families of eight, ten, twelve children. Were the Clickers really L’li in miniature? Of course not, he told himself. Twenty years to find a world to terraform…

  AT THE LAB MEETING IN THE SWALLOWTAIL GARDEN, Lorl reported a breakthrough in her project on muscle development. Above the table holostage the image of the muscle fibers appeared, their chains of hooked molecules outlined in red and gold. As a muscle contracted, the angle of the hooks would change, pulling the long molecules past each other to contract the fiber.

  Tulle reminded Lorl to review for the benefit of the new Valan student, Beryl of Rhodochrosite. A slim cream-colored goddess with long fingernails, Beryl wore ropes of rubies, for her father was an officer in the Valan space force.

  “The Myo-X protein governs muscle development and controls myosin turnover in adult muscle,” Lorl explained. “In Elysians, Myo-X is longevity-modified to maintain the muscle fibers for many centuries. But in a certain percentage of individuals, the modified Myo-X breaks down after only five centuries, leading to dystrophy and paralysis. I’ve redesigned the modification,” she reported. “It prevents Myo-X breakdown in the adult simulation, and causes no trouble in the live simbrid embryo.”

  “Excellent,” said Tulle. “You’re quite sure now? You grew the embryo out to seven months?” The word “fetus” was never used; the simbrid was always an “embryo,” as if it remained just a clump of cells in a dish.

  “Thirty-two weeks,” Lorl assured her. “We’re ready to test the new process clinically: first, by somatic gene surgery in adults at risk, then if all goes well, the shons will incorporate it into their embryo modifications.”

  Draeg interrupted. “The only Elysians ‘at risk’ are those who harbor the major Valan allele for Myo-X. Why can’t the shons just replace the Valan chromosome with a healthier one—L’liite, for instance.”

  Lorl ignored him, and the new Valan student gave him a glacial look. More and more Blackbear realized that medicine was as much politics as science.

  From out in the street-tunnel came the children’s shrieking. Their new game was to encourage Doggie to go running out underneath the trains of passing Elysians, in hopes of confusing their own trainsweeps and getting their trains all mixed up. Blackbear frowned in exasperation, for he had told them to quit this game. He waved his arm to get their attention.

  A white train appeared. It was Kal of course; one could spot him a mile off. Blackbear’s pulse raced. How well he recalled the first day long ago when Kal had passed by that window. Surely Tulle was not in trouble again? As he watched, Kal paused to speak to Blackbear’s children, whom the logen knew well by now; they calmed down and found a quieter game. For a moment Blackbear was seized by the impulse to run out and ask him something. But he returned his attention to the meeting.

  After some minutes, Draeg exclaimed, “Look—it’s Killer again.”

  Sure enough, Kal had checked his train at the door and entered the pavilion.

  “Quiet, Draeg,” said Tulle. “It is my Visiting Hour, but he’s got no more reason to bother me.” The Fertility Project was nearly phased out by now.

  Kal approached their table, more briskly than usual, Blackbear thought, as if he wished to get his errand over in a hurry. “Excuse me, Citizens, for interrupting your pleasure,” he murmured, reminding them they were supposed to be “visiting.” “The generen of the Anaeashon informs me, Tulle, that your mate has tried to withdraw our acquaintance.” This was the custom, to contact the generen of one’s shon of birth, when someone had no living mate. “Please tell your mate I do not accept this communication,” Kal told her.

  Tulle coldly replied, “You have no mate alive; you haven’t, for the past century and a half. Alin behaved correctly.”

  “I respectfully disagree,” said Kal, “and I reserve the right to address him.”

  Tulle waved her hand impatiently. “Waste your breath then. Why bother us? Haven’t you made enough trouble?”

  “We’ve had our disagreements, but surely now we share the same aim.”

  “You are many things, Kal, but you’re no simpleton,” Tulle said. “You know very well that our science is decades away from any sort of ‘genetic cohabitation’ with an alien biosphere. But now everyone will think, there’s the answer; let’s overpopulate. It will only make terraforming necessary sooner. If Loris gets in, he’ll co-opt the idea as a ‘compromise’ in his cunning Anaean way. How could you be so irresponsible?”

  Kal paused thoughtfully. “You are pessimistic. Some Sharers think otherwise.”

  “When it fails,” said Tulle, “I’m the one who’ll have to preserve the few species that survive. As for Sharers, who else in the Fold thinks like them? I don’t see you going out in webbed feet to face the seaswallowers.”

  A look of astonishment and shock passed across Kal’s face, and something about it made Blackbear wonder. But the logen soon recovered. “I wish you well in your work,” he said. “As for Alin,” he added more slowly, “you may tell him that it’s a sad day for Elysium when one logen tries to ‘unspeak’ another.”

  ON HIS NEXT VISITING DAY BLACKBEAR MET KAL IN THE swallowtail garden. As they approached him, Hawktalon ran ahead and grasped his white train. “Where is it, where is it? The butterfly coming out of her shell; you promised.”

  “Chrysalis,” Kal corrected. “I’ve found one, right here, overhead. Just climb up on the bench a moment.”

  Hawktalon quickly stepped up upon the bench, and Sunflower clamored to get up too. Blackbear hoisted him up to see the little chrysalis hanging beneath the branch. Shaped something like a whorlshell, the chrysalis had darkened noticeably, no longer the golden green that faded in among the leaves. One side had split off like a trapdoor, and from inside poked a pair of antennae and a spindly white leg.

  “I want it, I want to have it,” said Sunflower, precarious on tiptoes as he extended an eager hand.

  “Sunny, get away!” shrieked Hawktalon. “Make him behave, Daddy. Wow, wait till Doggie hears about this.” Doggie was off visiting again.

  The butterfly managed to drag itself out, a millimeter at a time. Its wings were crumpled lumps that would take some time to expand before they would be of any use. Cautiously Blackbear set Sunflower down, warning him to restrain himself. “It’s a little miracle, isn’t it?” he told Kal, sitting down beside him. “And to think of all those thousands of them.”

  “Yes, it’s marvelous.” Kal looked at him apprehensively. “You’re not angry?”

  “What?” Blackbear shook his head. This time, he was too confused to be angry. It occurred to him that for some reason, Kal really cared what Blackbear thought of him. Perhaps that was why he had confronted Tulle at the lab meeting, where Blackbear would hear his side. He caught Kal’s shoulder in a friendly way, like one of his brothers. A rare look of delight crossed Kal’s face. “It’s all a mystery to me,” added Blackbear, thinking over Tulle’s accusation. “The High Priestess says that every question has a dark side and a light side, and wisdom tells the difference. But here…it always seems as if…”

  “It’s multicolored,” Kal finished with a smile.

  “Tulle’s right, though. If Loris comes in, you’ll be sorry.” Raincloud though it very likely that Loris would soon be Prime.

  “Loris is a coward,” said Kal with unusual contempt. “He’ll back down.”

  “Well, you’re right that we need to terraform somehow. Even Alin admits that. And to do it the Sharer way—do you really think it wi
ll work?”

  Kal shrugged. “It’s an argument.”

  Blackbear looked at him, taken aback.

  “How should I know if it will work?” Kal added. “I’m just a logen, not a scientist, as your colleague reminded me.”

  “You could study a bit, though, before you raise hopes in public.”

  “First you need to hope. Then you can study.”

  “Its wing flapped, Daddy!” Hawktalon exclaimed.

  “Its wing flapped, its wing flapped,” her brother echoed, just catching himself from falling off the bench. The butterfly’s wings were flexing slowly, and specks of red appeared near the rims.

  “Actually,” Kal reflected, “I’m not at all sure that we do need to terraform, or even to survive as humans. Is the human race all that important? You could make a good case that the planets would be better off without us.”

  Blackbear shuddered. “The things you say sometimes. Is that why they call you Killer?” he asked suddenly.

  Kal laughed. “That’s an old joke. I once told my students on the first day of class, they could call me Killer. It’s true enough. I was a generen after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The generen decides on defectives.”

  Blackbear remembered. He thought of Sorl Helishon, the generen to whom he had entrusted Hawktalon; who now led the children to march out and support the Sharers. What a mixture were these Elysians, the height of civilization coexisting with unconscious cruelty.

  THE INTERIOR OF THE SHARER SILKHOUSE WAS COVERED by an unusually large “painting” of moss fungi, their thick filaments filling large swatches of green and gold. The sight unnerved Verid, despite its beauty; she always brought extra antiallergenic medicine, just in case, although she had never had a problem.

  But today she scarcely noticed. Yshri was just on the point of agreeing to a truce and a conference.

  “We can keep our witnessers?” Yshri reminded her for assurance.

  “A token number, just outside the Nucleus,” Verid told the lifeshaper. “But no more ‘shadowing.’”