by Pam Uphoff
Another new thing. Instant transport across continents and oceans, on the same world.
The traffic in San Francisco was heavy as well, but the train depot not far.
The coast curved too much for a bullet train, but Ajha liked the slow trip. Spectacular views all along the coast, north to the enclave. A bit over an hour, to relax and unwind from the job—and brace oneself for extended exposure to the family.
Ajha eyed the drunks down on the other end of the train car. But today it looks like I get to "enjoy" the family all the way up the coast.
"The King is dead!"
"Long live the King!"
Drunken laughter. "I mean patty ark. Patry . . . arch! Ha! Got it!"
The drunks tried singing, fortunately breaking off into laughter.
Mushy the Lushy and Whipper. Figures. Distant cousins. Thank the One.
The law that required that every descendant of the Prophets bear the letter designation of four of his genetic insertions had landed Wpja an unusually unpronouncable name. Ushy, well. Sometimes nicknames came too easy. Of course, nothing prevented a parent from adding an actual name type of name to the whole collection, but that had fallen out of custom a dozen generations ago. They were also, by law, saddled with a public disclosure of approximately how many magic genes they had, with his Clostuone rating putting him well down rank. His parents had divorced following the disgrace of his birth. Withiones were not supposed to have Clostuone children. If for no other reason than it meant his father was publicly outed as not having double complete sets.
And, of course, they also had their clan and sub-clan designations.
Ajha sighed impatiently. When one entered Government service, one was supposed to drop Clan affiliation from one's name. But everyone knew.
And now this conference. Everyone was going to come. Everyone.
Black Point Clan was one of the smaller of over three thousand clans. But they had a large number of influential government positions. So the death of the Clan Patriarch and the Convention to name a new one was in the news.
Ajha settled back to read all about it.
His own father was one of the potential Patriarchs. Axti Withione. The Ax. Minister of Audits, maker of much sweating and trembling in the halls of government. As Patriarch of Black Point he'd have one of the 3274 votes in the Conclave Concerning The One. Usually a social duty, and a huge tic on the snob scale, this year it would mean something in the Halls of Power.
For the first time in four hundred years they were going to vote on the definition and standards for the One. The seven percent of the population with the gene for power collection. Another ten percent or so "the Halfers" had the other genes, the Prophet's genes, but lacked the essential power Gene. The One Gene.
The Prophets' genes were not unalloyed good. Three of them, in the wrong combination with the normal version of the gene tipped the balance of the male sexual aggression. Perhaps ten percent of Oners had the impulse to rape, although many were to honest, too honorable to give into the urge. At least, that was the situation until four years ago, when an unfortunate decision to revive a covert war with the world known as Comet Fall had resulted in a bit of retaliatory biowarfare. Nano scale von Neumann's had been deliberately spread. Nanos that homed in on the three genes and altered the Prophet's version to the normal allele. It hadn't gotten everyone. Just, at latest count, ninety-five percent of them.
Of course, we can reengineer the genes back to the violent version. Why anyone would want to is beyond me, and politics over whether to release the potions that will repair them . . . it could be decades before the fix is approved.
Hence the upcoming Conclave of Clans.
Should the One categories be redefined, as percent possession of 105 rather than 108 pairs of genes? Should the redesignation be retroactive, or just applied to children born post Bio Attack? People had always been able to request retesting. Should they be held to the old or new standards? What of the few Oners who hadn't been changed? They were mostly against changing the qualifications, and demanding a complete retesting. No doubt they hoped to be left standing on the pinnacle in a much reduced company.
Ajha, to his eternal gratitude, had never had any of the suspect genes. He was old enough to cynically realize that any change to his official designation would change only a few words.
But too many people see their self-worth in the label. They're going to fight the conclave—one way or the other—for their own personal benefit. And it all starts here, for the Clan.
His drunken cousins—thankfully several generations removed—were singing now.
The train dropped to the slower tracks and eased to a halt at the platform.
Home is the hunter. And all of his cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews and whatever else and however distant. Family.
About the Author
I was born and raised in California, and have lived more than half my life, now, in Texas.
Wonderful place. I caught almost the first bachelor I met here, and we’re coming up on our thirty-seventh anniversary.
My degree's in Geology. After working for an oil company for almost ten years as a geophysicist, I “retired” to raise children. As they grew, I added oil painting, sculpting and throwing clay, breeding horses, volunteering in libraries and for the Boy Scouts, and treasurer for a friend’s political campaign. Sometime in those busy years, I turned a love of science fiction into a part time job reading slush (Mom? Someone is paying you to read??!!)
I've always written, published a few short stories. But now that the kids have flown the nest, I'm calling writing a full time job.
Last Merge is my eighteenth novel. Black Point Clan will be the eighth in a spin-off series the series. Number nine, Project Dystopia, should out in April of 2018, with two more planned for this year—Fractured Loyalties and External Relations—as well as two or three short stories. The novella Nowhere Man—The story about what happened to Eldon—will be published probably in March or April of 2018.
I also have some unrelated work in progress . . . The first Marshal to the wild frontier of the Asteroid Belt, and an orphaned werewolf raised by very nice (and very tolerant) foster parents goes off to seek his blood relatives—and might live to regret it.
Email [email protected] to join the mailing list for notifications of new releases, or follow me on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pam.uphoff
Other Titles by Pam Uphoff
Wine of the Gods Series:
Outcasts and Gods
Exiles and Gods (Three Novellas)
The Black Goats
Explorers
Spy Wars
One Alone
Comet Fall
A Taste of Wine (Seven Tales)
Dark Lady
Growing Up Magic (Four Novellas)
Young Warriors
God of Assassins
Heirs of Crown and Spear
The Fiend
Empire of the One
Warriors of the One
Dancer
Earth Gate
Mages at Large
Art Theft
Triplets
Sea Wolves
Bad Karma
Dark Side of the Moon
Cascades
Olympian
Embassy
Rael
On the Run
God of the Sun
Cannibal World
No Confidence
Pure Poison
Flying
Mall Santa
Saturday Night
The Directorate Series
Directorate School
A Tale of Three Interns
Trouble in Paradise
First Posting
Surveillance
Fort Dinosaur
Shadow Zone
The Lawyers of Mars
Fancy Free
Time Loop
Writing as Zoey Ivers
YA Cyberpunk Adventures:
The Barton Street
Gym
Chicago
Atlantis+
Fantasy:
Demi God
