THE LOST COLONY

by D M Arnold

  Andra nodded in agreement.

  Laida set two plates before them. “Stir-fried pomma with herbs.”

  “It smells very good,” Andra said.

  “Is there anything else?” Laida asked.

  Nyk looked at Andra and shook his head. “I don't think so, Laida.”

  “Then excuse me -- I must go feed. I'll be back to clear your table.”

  “Laida,” Andra said, “why don't you bring your meal in here?”

  “May I?”

  “Certainly,” Nyk replied.

  Laida returned with a large bowl mounded with a pinkish-brown paste. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, in a corner, holding the bowl between her knees and began eating the paste with a spoon.

  “No, Laida,” Andra said. “Sit here at the table with us.” She patted an empty chair.

  Laida set her bowl on the table and pulled up a chair.

  “What is that you're eating?” Nyk asked.

  “It's our food.”

  “How does it come?”

  “I don't understand.”

  “Where does this come from?”

  “From a can.”

  “May I taste?” He scooped a bit with his fingertip and licked it. “Salty... Laida, do you like this?”

  “It doesn't matter if I like it or not -- I must feed.”

  “When was your last meal?”

  “Three days ago.” She continued to wolf down the paste.

  “You don't get hungry between meals?”

  “No.” Laida scraped the last of the paste from the bowl, then dropped in the spoon. She reached up, locked her fingers behind her neck and stretched. Nyk noticed her skin bulging below her right ribcage. She pressed her hand there. “A full stomach is an agreeable sensation,” she said. “Do you concur?”

  “I certainly do. I enjoy that sensation three times a day -- not once every three days.”

  Laida rubbed her biceps. “I must get sun tomorrow -- I haven't had much today.”

  “Laida,” Andra asked, “what happens if you don't get sun?”

  “We get sick and die,” she replied, “though that takes a long time. I feel sunstarved after two or three days in the shade. It's not an agreeable sensation.”

  “Then what?” Nyk asked.

  “After a few more days, torpor sets in.”

  “Unconsciousness?” Nyk asked.

  “No -- torpor. We don't loose consciousness, but it becomes more and more difficult to move.”

  “Paralysis,” Nyk offered.

  “More like that.”

  “Then what?”

  “After another ten days or so, unconsciousness and then we die. That's assuming we're only sunstarved. Without water, we die quicker.” She rubbed her arms again. “I feel sun- hunger now. Maybe tomorrow while you're at your meetings, Mr Alvo will let me tend the garden -- pull weeds -- and have my sun.”

  “How about just lying out in it?” Andra asked.

  “We must keep busy. We prefer to keep busy.”

  Nyk stood and retrieved something from his case. “Here -- try eating this.”

  “What is it?”

  “It's a sweet snack wafer.”

  She bit into the wafer. “An agreeable flavor...” She chewed and swallowed it.

  “Have another.”

  Laida held her hand against her abdomen. “I have an odd sensation in my stomach.”

  “Uncomfortable?”

  “No ... odd ... but the sun-hunger is fading.”

  “You needed sugar,” Nyk said.

  “We can't digest sugar.”

  “Perhaps you can't digest sucrose. There are many kinds of sugar. Laida -- the chloroplasts in your skin create glucose -- the same sugar in those wafers. Your body doesn't need to digest glucose -- simply absorb it -- which your stomach seems able to do.”

  “I am feeling better. Let me clear the table.”

  Andra followed Nyk into the living room and sat beside him on a sofa. “We can't be party to this,” she said. “We must inform Kronta of what's going on here.”

  “Suppose the HL is fully aware of the novonids? We have given other colonies wide latitude in establishing their own cultures.

  “No, Nyk. Think of what might come if novonids were introduced onto a colony that already has a high unemployment rate -- one like Altia or T-Delta.”

  Laida approached them. “Do you need anything else?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Nyk replied. “Some companionship.”

  She paused. “I must pass your request to Mr Alvo. He would be the one to locate companions for you.”

  “Your companionship, Laida. Come sit and talk with us.”

  She shook her head. “I've already done more than I should...”

  “Alvo said you were to satisfy our needs,” Andra said. “We need to talk with you.” Laida sat in a chair. Her yellow-orange eyes shifted between Nyk and Andra.

  “Will you spend the rest of your life working here?” Nyk asked.

  “No. When I'm of age, I'll return to my breeder. A novonid female is expected to bear at least ten children -- mostly males.”

  “You must be close to age,” Nyk observed.

  “Yes -- in a year.”

  “What happens to unwanted female infants?” Andra asked. “Are they killed?”

  “No. There are none -- they aren't implanted.”

  Nyk looked toward Andra. “In vitro fertilization. Why waste a pregnancy?”

  “No, not in vitro,” Laida replied. “They can screen the sperm.”

  “Then, what happens?” Andra asked.

  “Older women spend several years as wet nurses, feeding other infants.”

  “And, then?”

  Laida shook her head. “I don't know.”

  “Would you be sent to work in the fields?” inquired Nyk.

  “No. That is men's work.”

  “Laida, do you enjoy the life you lead?”

  “Enjoy? What do you mean?”

  Andra re-phrased Nyk's question. “Do you find serving guests for Alvo to be agreeable?”

  “Agreeable, yes.” She looked into Nyk's eyes. “Please... no more of this. Mr Alvo instructed me not to...”

  “We don't want to get you into trouble with your boss,” Nyk replied.

  “Then, I'll go. I'll return to prepare your morning meal.”

  “We must be up early to meet with Prefect Ogan.”

  “You are meeting with Prefect Ogan?” Laida asked.

  “Yes. First thing in the morning.”

  “I'll be here to prepare your meal.”

  * * *

  Morning light streamed into the wide window overlooking the Varadan capital. Nyk paced in the guest apartment. Andra emerged from the bathroom pulling her fingers through her wet hair. “I had a conversation with Kronta while you were in the shower,” he said. “I informed him of the situation here.”

  “What did Kronta say?”

  “He said the decision to proceed with normalization rests with Tomyka. She's not due here for two more days.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No. He gave us the go-ahead to gather more intelligence.”

  “He doesn't fully trust Tomyka, either,” Andra mused.

  “He trusts her,” Nyk replied, “in his own words, as far as he could hand-maneuver an ExoScout. He did think one thing was odd, though... Neither of us understand why we would resurrect a discarded comm relay rather than obtain a new one from the Communications Corps.”

  “This one works well enough, doesn't it?”

  “Indeed -- thanks to your friend Zane.” The doorchime sounded. Nyk stepped to the door and admitted Laida. “Good morning,” he said.

  “I shall prepare your food.” She headed into the kitchen.

  Andra joined Nyk at the table. Laida set before them plates with biscuits smeared with the same sweet syrup Ogan had served for dessert the prior day. Then she brought mugs of a hot beverage.

  “These are pomma biscuits?” Nyk asked.


  “Yes,” Laida replied.

  “Is this drink also made from pomma?”

  “Yes -- the kernels are roasted and ground, then steeped in boiling water.”

  “It's very good.” He looked up at her. “Laida -- your hands are shaking.”

  “The sun-hunger has returned. Mr Alvo said I may spend the day tending the gardens.”

  “If you need sun -- go get it,” Andra said. “Nyk and I can fend for ourselves.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Absolutely. You're dismissed, Laida.”

  “Thank you. I'll see you this evening.”

  * * *

  Nyk sat at the conference table with Andra beside him. Prefect Ogan breezed into the room. “Envoy Wells is due tomorrow. What else needs doing to prepare?”

  “We would like more information on the novonids,” Nyk said.

  “Is this being requested by the envoy?'

  “It is being requested by some homeworld authorities.”

  Ogan paced. “Very well. Our novonid project is an open book. What can I tell you?”

  “Are all novonids as docile and complacent as you have represented?”

  “Hmm...” He continued to pace. “In the early years of the project, we had some strains that exhibited more aggressive behavior. Over the years we have bred that trait out of the species.”

  “But the trait could surface.”

  “It's possible. From time to time we do encounter individual specimens that respond poorly to conditioning.”

  “And, what do you do with those?” Ogan paced. “Prefect -- what happens to specimens resistant to conditioning.”

  “If they respond poorly enough -- they are ... terminated. In a humane manner, of course.”

  “Terminated?” Andra asked. “Does the same practice extend to field workers who have become too old or infirm to produce?”

  “You must understand ... we have no room in our society for unproductive novonids.”

  “In other words,” Andra replied, “you have brought these people into this world, you use them and then discard them.”

  “They are NOT people.” Ogan paced more, his eyes rolled upward. “There is a movement among us -- the Benevolent Shelter Society... They take in worn-out workers ... care for them ... give them shelter ... until nature takes its course.”

  “How many are placed in the shelters?”

  “These days -- most.”

  “But not all.”

  “No, not all.” He stopped and faced them. “There -- I've laid it on the table. Pass this all along to your homeworld authorities. I make no apologies for our practices -- they are what they are. You will find normalization between Floran and Varada beneficial -- or not. That must be your assessment. But -- we will NOT deceive you.”

  “A policy I favor,” Nyk replied. “I appreciate your candor. Were all diplomats like that.” Ogan proffered a weak smile. “Answer this, Prefect... Are the novonids sentient?”

  “Sentient? What do you mean?”

  “Are they aware of their own mortality? Do they fear their own deaths?”

  “Hmm... That's a difficult one to answer. Their brains are patterned after the human model, and they have limited cognitive skills. No one knows for sure how they perceive the world around them. Any comparison of their thought patterns to ours would be mere conjecture.”

  “Can they be taught to read?” Nyk asked.

  “Can they be taught to recognize written patterns? Yes. It doesn't mean they comprehend what they read.”

  “The guest house assigned us a young novonid woman to be our attendant,” Andra noted. “I was impressed with her, Prefect. She seemed sentient. Her cognitive skills seemed well enough developed to compete with the best of us. She certainly was aware of her own mortality.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “She understands that, if deprived of sunlight long enough, she will die. I'll tell you, Prefect -- if I closed my eyes while conversing with her, I wouldn't have known she was one of your artificial people. She was articulate and her speech patterns belied nothing that would make me think she was other than a human peer.”

  “Ms Baxa... We have five centuries of experience with these beings. We designed them for a purpose. You, on the other hand, have been on this world less than one full day, and you have had direct contact with ... how many? two? three? Please don't presume you know more of them than we do.”

  “Prefect,” Andra replied coldly, “I am offering my observations as a dispassionate outsider...”

  “Outsider, yes. Dispassionate? I believe there may be some concealed agenda to your line of discussion.”

  “No agenda, Prefect. Events in my life have given me some appreciation for what the novonids must be...”

  “Prefect,” Nyk interrupted. “Would it be possible for us to visit a pomma farm?”

  “You wish to observe novonids in their natural habitat. I think I can arrange it.”

  * * *

  A mini-bus sped along a highway into the countryside surrounding the Varadan capital, its alcohol-fueled turbine whining. Nyk pointed. “This is all pomma?”

  “Yes.”

  He regarded the fields of waist-high shrubs with pack-toting novonid men strolling the rows.

  “Mr Alvo at our guest house told us the novonids lack free wills,” Andra said.

  “That is true,” Ogan replied.

  “Is it fact or merely a legal fiction?”

  “Why would you call it a fiction?”

  “I would say our novonid maid has a will that certainly appears free to me.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving. They lack the ability to weigh facts and make informed decisions; consequently they may not own property or enter into legal contracts. They were designed thus, Andra.”

  “Prefect,” Nyk said. “Perhaps this is an indelicate question... Is there a Varadan sex industry involving novonid women?”

  “Why would you ask something like that?”

  “Out of curiosity. I know of it happening on other colonies. On Altia, for example, a subrace has evolved and those women find employment as prostitutes.”

  “I can speak for the entire Varadan population,” Ogan replied, “perhaps with the exception of the odd pervert here or there. We find the notion of intercourse between Varadans and novonids to be repugnant ... disgusting. I personally find it abhorrent.”

  “I apologize for offending you, then.”

  “It's quite all right, Nykkyo. We agreed to be open... As a matter of fact, anyone caught in such an act would be severely punished.”

  “Both parties?” Andra asked. “Human as well as novonid?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Tell me, Prefect,” she continued. “Is it regular Varadan practice to punish victims of crime?”

  “Certainly not. The victim in such a case is the sensibility of all Varadan society.”

  “No doubt. But what of a novonid victim of a sexual assault? Would you punish her?”

  “Of course not. We were discussing consensual intercourse, not rape.”

  “I believe, Prefect,” Andra replied, “you have contradicted yourself.”

  “How so?”

  “You tell us the novonids lack free will. Therefore they must lack the ability to give consent, for consent is a choice and choice derives from free will. A sexual act with a non- consenting partner is rape. Yet, you also tell us you will punish a novonid caught in such an act. Which is it, Prefect? Do they or do they not have free wills? Can they give consent or not?”

  Ogan glowered at her. “Let me express it more directly,” he finally said. “Novonids are like humans in that each possesses a baser self. Like us, they have emotions and primitive drives. Our conditioning trains them to suppress acting on such. Those unable to resist are dealt with.”

  The vehicle slowed at a sprawling complex of low buildings. “Ah,” Ogan said. “We have arrived. Let me speak with the landlord.” He stepped from the bus.

  “Ogan'
s a pro,” Nyk said. “Did you see how he danced his way out of your trap?”

  Andra smiled. “A real pro would've seen the trap coming and avoided it. I think, perhaps unintentionally, you touched a nerve. I could see it when you broached the subject -- it struck him on an emotional level. We were trained at the academy to look for such. The best way to trap someone is with an emotional lure.” She kissed his cheek. “You performed the perfect set-up, Nyk. Another ax'amfin couldn't have done better.”

  Ogan opened the door and gestured Nyk and Andra outside. “I feel this sun,” she said.

  “Be careful,” Nyk replied. “I've had sunburn on Earth. I imagine with your fair skin you'd get burned standing too near a light bulb.”

  7 -- The Pomma Farm

  A young man approached them. “This is the farm's overseer,” Ogan explained. “He will take you to the crops.”

  “Follow me.”

  They walked toward a field resembling many the bus had passed. Their guide pointed to a row of waist-high plants. “This is pomma,” he said. “Mature plants are in continuous production.” He picked a fruiting body and pointed to it. “These grains have tasseled out and the tassel must be plucked.” He picked off a red, feathery structure growing from the tip of a kernel. “These grains are ready to harvest.” He picked them off and handed them to Nyk. “These grains are immature and must be left. Every day, each seed head has grains requiring attention of some sort.”

  They approached a novonid man in late middle age. At his waist he wore a pouch into which he placed harvested kernels. Nyk watched his deft fingers de-tasseling some grains and harvesting others. Methodically he worked his way from top to bottom of the plant, then moved on to the next one. “Care to try your hand at it?” Ogan asked.

  Nyk approached a pomma plant and plucked red tassels. He picked a few grains. “I would quickly tire of this work.”

  “Be careful not to disturb the immature kernels,” Andra said.

  “My fingers are getting red.”

  Nyk dropped a handful of kernels into the novonid worker's pouch. “That's enough,” he said. “Your fieldhands are content to do this work day in and day out?”

  “Certainly,” Ogan replied. “They prefer to be busy as they soak up sunshine.” He turned to the overseer. “Show our visitors the demonstration we discussed.”