by J. J. Green
“Sure,” the trainee replied. “Do you think they’ll let me name her?”
Cariad chuckled. “Maybe. It won’t hurt to ask.”
Like a proud new father, the man carried the newborn out of the Gestation Room. Cariad turned to the waiting students. “Who’s next?”
***
By the end of the session each trainee had taken a turn at decanting a newborn, and Cariad finished the training a little less worried than she’d been when it started. Though the Gens still had a long way to go to restart natural human reproduction on a scale that would increase the population, it seemed they could at least lose some of their fear of it. Dr. Montfort would take over the students’ preparation for the real thing with natural childbirth vids and whatever else he had in mind.
When the last of the trainees had left, she took a final look at the Gestation Room with its empty gestation bags, some still dripping. For nearly two centuries, the reproductive facilities had served the Nova Fortuna Project well, steadily maintaining a heterogeneous gene pool of two thousand individuals. But its days were finally over.
Cleaning up the room and putting everything into storage could wait until tomorrow, Cariad decided. It had been a long day. She turned off the heartbeat soundtrack and the lights and went out.
As she left, she bumped into a colleague who was on her way in. It was Anahi—an agricultural geneticist and a Woken. When she had been revived from cryo, the process had left her blind. As Nova Fortuna wasn’t equipped with the technology to grow new eyes and optic nerves, she relied on a vision aid. A black strip of light-sensitive material wrapped around her head and connected with her brain through a contact at the back.
The crueler Gens, who weren’t used to seeing anyone who deviated from standard human physiology, would make jokes about Anahi within her hearing. They said she had eyes in the back of her head and made other crass comments. In fact, she did have better than normal peripheral vision and could probably see a wider color range. However, Cariad imagined she would probably rather have had real eyes. She’d gotten to know Anahi over the years they’d both been working on the project preparations and though the older woman was likable enough, Cariad had found her to be rather brittle and not the type to take the Gens’ teasing in good humor. She must have barely met the psychological standard to be allowed to join the cryo preserved contingent of the colonists.
“Did the decanting go well?” Anahi asked.
“Yes, thanks. Fifty new babies added to the gene pool. All healthy and normal.”
“Good. So that’s it, then. The last Gens conceived and gestated artificially.”
“I hope so,” Cariad said. “They’re on their own for the time being, anyway. In the case of a disaster, we can always open up the shop again.”
“Yes, you still have plenty of frozen eggs and sperm, haven’t you?” said Anahi, “And how’s the equipment? Has it held up well? I remember you were concerned about that.”
“It’s still functioning adequately. I haven’t encountered any failures. Have you in your section?”
“No, but everything’s looking all tired and old. Rather like me.” Anahi smiled.
Cariad said, “I’m sure you have quite a few more decades in you.”
“Thanks, but I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I wanted to speak to you about something.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, first of all, I want to say the Generational Colonists have done well in getting this far. Do you remember when we were placed in cryo? We thought we might never be revived, or that only one or two ancient descendants of the First Generation would be alive at the journey’s end. Yet we woke up, and it was like everything had worked like clockwork. Two thousand healthy colonists with a good genetic mix. They’d followed the Manual almost to the letter in that regard.” She paused. “But… ”
Cariad raised her eyebrows.
“There’s something… I’m not sure how to put it,” Anahi went on. “The Generational Colonists… they’re kind of child-like. They don’t have much initiative, much get-up-and-go, if you know what I mean. They just mindlessly do things without really thinking.”
“I’m not sure I understand you.”
“Okay. For example, the First Night Attack. I wasn’t there—thank goodness—but I heard almost everyone ran around like panicked sheep. I heard that if it wasn’t for you, they would have all been killed.”
“You heard wrong, then. I helped, yes, but it was Ethan—a Gen—who came up trumps. And it was terrifying. I was pretty close to running around like a panicked sheep myself. I don’t think you’d be so quick to criticize if you’d been there.” Cariad wondered where Anahi was heading. Something was clearly bugging her.
“Still… ”
Cariad said nothing, waiting for the other woman to speak her mind.
Anahi said, “Cariad, I think we need to resume the revival process. We need more project scientists to oversee the colonization. If we don’t, we risk the entire project failing and all of us dying.”
“But, Anahi… ”
“What?”
“Do I have to spell it out? You’re one of the last people I would expect to make that suggestion. You lost your sight, others lost the use of limbs, and some are permanently brain damaged. Some didn’t even make it. Everyone we revive is at risk of serious complications or death. And anyway, I don’t agree with you about the Gens. They’re entirely capable of making a go of this. They might seem naive and inexperienced to us, but they were raised in an unnatural environment. They can adapt and meet the challenges. I’m sure of it. They’re human, the same as us. Adapting is what we do best.”
Anahi seemed pensive. “I thought you might say that.”
“Huh? You thought I might say what?”
“Never mind. Look. I get it that you like the Generational Colonists. I like them too. I just don’t think they’re equipped for this job we’ve set them. And it isn’t their fault. It’s our fault for imagining they ever could be. Hell, it would be hard enough to colonize an alien planet even for us—people experienced at living in a planetary environment and not coddled all our lives aboard a starship.
“I think it’s time to admit that we were wrong. It would have been better to freeze two thousand individuals and maintain a much smaller population of living crew, just enough to maintain the ship and begin the reviving process. That can’t be helped now, but we do need more project scientists. We need their skills and their experience of living in a natural environment.”
“Seriously?” Cariad asked. “Do you really think we need more people from Earth so badly we should risk their lives?”
“If we don’t wake them up, they’re as good as dead. Don’t you think we should give them a chance of life?”
“We need more time to understand what went wrong—”
“How long do you think we should wait? The last I heard, we’d made hardly any progress in understanding why some of us were revived with no problems and others died. For all we know, it could be something to do with the way we were frozen, and there isn’t anything we can do about that now. At least this way the question is decided, one way or another.”
Cariad hesitated to answer. She felt that Anahi was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Her arguments seemed rational. If only the cryo organizers had thought to provide for this eventuality. All the Woken had written wills about life-saving measures if something went wrong during revival, but no one had been asked to state whether they should be revived. That was a given.
“Think about it,” Anahi said. “I’m going to speak to some of the others and see if we can come to a consensus. I’m not going to do anything if most of us think it’s too risky. But personally speaking, I’d rather be blind and living and breathing than lying frozen in sludge, possibly forever. And the Generational Colonists need more of us if the colonization is to stand a chance of succeeding.”
“But even if the other Woken agree,” Cariad said, “you have to ge
t the permission of the Leader to restart the revival process.”
“There is no Leader, and even if there were, why do we need his or her permission? We were the ones who organized the Nova Fortuna project. We were there at the beginning and we know what’s needed for it to succeed. The others only exist because of us.”
Cariad was becoming increasingly annoyed at Anahi’s reasoning and opinions and it clearly showed on her face. The woman touched her arm in a conciliatory manner. “I just want to help the Gens, as you call them, for their benefit and our own. And to do that, we need strength in numbers. We need more of us.”
Cariad was about to reply when Strongquist appeared. She didn’t want to continue the discussion in front of the Guardian. It felt like washing the Wokens’ dirty laundry in public, and she didn’t quite trust the man.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Strongquist said to Cariad. “I wanted to ask you something if you have a moment.”
Anahi gave Cariad’s arm a squeeze and said, “Think about it,” again before leaving.
“What is it you want to ask me?” Cariad said, still irritated by her conversation with Anahi.
“I was wondering if you’d gotten any further with checking the resources I gave you? Did you find anything that might lead us to the stadium bomber?”
“Uh, no. I checked everything through but I didn’t see anything that’ll help.”
Strongquist peered at her. “You seem hesitant. Do you mean you didn’t see anything, or you saw something but you aren’t sure how it might be useful?”
Cariad frowned. “The latter. There was a name that seemed meaningful, but I looked through all my records and couldn’t see anything that would link me to the person. I think it’s just my imagination running wild.”
“Hmm… Maybe this person didn’t have anything to do with you, but the name is familiar due to an event or encounter that you can’t remember just yet. Don’t forget that you were in cryonic suspension for nearly two centuries. It wouldn’t be surprising if you experienced some memory loss. What was the name?”
It wasn’t difficult for Cariad to recall. The name had been on her mind so much while she tried to figure out its significance, it was burned in. “Frederick Aparicio.”
“Thanks. I’ll check it out and see what I find.”
“Are you any closer to catching the bomber?” Asking the Guardian the question was weird. It was as if they were the colony’s police force, yet no one had appointed them.
“No, I’m sorry. We aren’t much further on. But maybe this name will help. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Cariad replied, wishing she knew what she could do herself to catch the bomber.
Chapter Six
It was Ethan’s turn with the plow. Five of the machines had been assembled from the kits brought aboard the Nova Fortuna. There were plenty more waiting to be put together, but the first crop was a priority. The farmers were sharing the use of the plows that were already available.
The machine was mechanical only. It had no computer controlling it or refining its operation according to variations in soil, plants, or the weather as agricultural technology on Earth had. The farmers would have to learn all the nuances of their job and not rely on support from tech, passing their knowledge and skills down to the next generation. Computers required complex parts, and those complex parts required rare, refined resources. Until the colony progressed to a level capable of providing those resources, it would rely on human ingenuity.
Ethan stared at the instruction manual, then at the plow, then at the manual again. The farmer who had brought the plow over had explained its operation. It had seemed straightforward while he was listening, but Ethan was having problems matching his memory of the farmer’s words with the machine in front of him. His difficulties probably had something to do with the fact that he had no interest whatsoever in operating it.
Heaving a sigh, Ethan approached the machine. Maybe he could learn how to work it by trial and error. There wasn’t anything around for him to collide with, so he wasn’t likely to do any harm. He didn’t even have a house yet to run into. He rolled the plaspaper document and pushed it into his back pocket before grabbing the bars on either side of the cab door and pulling himself up and in. He sat in the driver’s seat and stared at the controls. They seemed simple enough. Some steered the machine and others operated the plow.
“Hey,” called a voice.
Ethan jumped nearly out of his skin. A short woman was standing right next to the cab, squinting up at him from under a cap, her hands on her hips.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I guess you didn’t hear me arrive.”
A flitter rested on the ground behind her.
“I’m your neighbor,” the woman went on. “Name’s Cherry.” She held up her hand.
Ethan leaned down and shook it. “Ethan. But I thought my neighbor was—”
“He got reassigned. I took over his land. Always wanted to be a farmer, and here I am! Can I join you up there? I think I’m next in line for this plow. Thought I’d get a handle on it.”
“Sure.”
With some difficulty due to her shortness, Cherry climbed up into the passenger side of the cab. “Have you figured it out yet?”
“Honestly? No. I was just about to start it up and take it from there.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Cherry. “Do you have the instructions? Can I take a look?”
Ethan pulled the thin book out of his pocket and gave it to her. Then he pressed a button. The engine started.
“Doing good so far,” said Cherry, not looking up from the manual.
Ethan wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic. He had finally recognized her. Cherry had been two grades above him at school. Then he remembered something else that made him pause.
“Aren’t you going to start driving it?” Cherry asked. “You should go to a corner of your land and begin there.”
“Wait a minute,” Ethan said, “I’m trying to figure out what you’re doing here. Why are you a farmer? You were top of your grade in math and science.”
Cherry rolled her eyes. “Just because I was good at something doesn’t mean I have to like it. I didn’t want to do any of the jobs my grade average qualified me for. I wanted to be farmer. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.”
“So they let you change jobs? Just like that?”
“Not exactly just like that, but it wasn’t too hard. Things are in disarray at the moment with no Leader. I think they just got tired of arguing with me in the end and gave me permission to take over the land after it became vacant. They only wanted me to go away and stop bothering them.”
“Really?”
“Yep. So… Are you going to drive this thing or not?”
“Er… Do you want to try?”
“I’d love to.”
Ethan jumped out of the cab and walked around the plow to the other side. He climbed into the seat Cherry had vacated as she moved across to the driving seat. She turned her cap around so the bill faced backward and, giving Ethan a grin, she pressed the accelerator. The plow lurched violently forward. He grabbed the side of the cab to prevent himself from being thrown out.
“Sorry,” said Cherry.
He slid his door closed and Cherry did the same, then she set off. As they drove along the rough ground bounced them up and down and threw them from side to side. Cherry began to laugh and so did Ethan.
“Where do I go?” Cherry asked.
Ethan turned and pointed to the side of the lake where his land bordered the shore. It was as good a place to start as any.
Cherry swung the plow around so hard Ethan thought it was in danger of toppling over. He held on tight.
“Whoops,” Cherry said.
“Take it easy. What’s your hurry? We have all day.”
“I know,” Cherry replied as she stopped the plow at the edge of the lake where the vegetation
gave way to the shore. Her expression turned more serious. “But it would be great if I could plow and sow my own land soon. The sooner this colony is self-sustaining the better.”
“I don’t think anyone would disagree with you on that,” said Ethan, “but, let’s face it, none of us knows what we’re doing. This is an expensive item of equipment that we can’t replace. It might be good to take things slowly, step by step.”
Cherry’s look darkened further. “You mean none of us Gens knows what we’re doing.”
“I guess I do mean that. We grew up aboard the ship, while the Woken and the Guardians—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Don’t say what?” Ethan asked.
“You were about to say they’re more experienced than us, better than us, just because they grew up on Earth.”
“Yes, something like that. The Woken went to college. They worked hard to become the world’s top scientists. They didn’t have everything provided for them like us. And they know how to handle living planetside.”
“And I suppose you think that makes them better than us?”
“It depends what you—”
Cherry said, “I can’t believe I’d hear an opinion like that from you, Ethan. Everyone likes you so much because you helped save people in the First Night Attack. But if the others heard what you just said…”
“What? What did I say?” He thought he’d only stated the obvious. “I didn’t say anything bad about Gens. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with us. But we’re different from the Woken and the Guardians. There’s no denying it.”
“And there I was thinking of asking you… ” Cherry shook her head.
“Asking me what?” When she refused to answer, Ethan said, “Wait a minute. You aren’t really here because you wanted to help me with the plowing, are you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t make any sense that someone as smart as you would want to be a farmer. Why are you really here?”
Cherry wasn’t meeting his gaze. “I do want to be a farmer, but don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter. I think I better go. I’ll walk back to my flitter. Bring the plow over when you’re finished with it, okay?”
