Shivering World
Page 50
She spent the next minute resetting temperature levels on incubators and refrigerators. On her reactivated computer, a terse message described Paul’s capture. After directing Axis Plantation to truck him to Center for evacuation with the nontransgenic colonists, the Gaea pilot had promptly left orbit and headed for Copernicus.
So Gaea net was still up?
Momentarily, at least! Seizing the opportunity, she typed.
+To Commissioner Brady-Phillips, Supervisor Hauwk, and other officers of Gaea Consortium and the Eugenics Board:
Despite accusations made in my absence, remaining on Goddard is my choice. There was no coercion by any colonist. I hereby resign my position with Gaea Terraforming Consortium and request that wages owed me be credited against Registered Lawsuit #0633451.+
―――
What else, what else? Jirina! A true friend—but they hadn’t even said goodbye.
+Jirina, think of me kindly. I’ll miss you. Good luck, and thanks.
Mother, thank you anyway. Don’t worry for me.
Graysha+
She touched the Send key. To her relief, the Acknowledge panel lit.
―――
Clutching a sickness bag in one shaking hand, Novia pressed a hardcopy handed her by ExPress crew against her fold-down tray to steady it. Her knee ached, and her stomach lurched with every course correction. EB personnel would doubtless interpret that “thank you anyway” statement correctly. She could face a conspiracy hearing.
She clenched her free hand. Graysha was already dead, really—dead to family, dead to any constructive future.
Perhaps if she took early retirement, the EB would not prosecute.
Perhaps she had outlived her usefulness.
Perhaps Graysha was right, and the Eugenics Board was a dinosaur no longer relevant to the survival of humankind as a genetic entity.
Blasphemy! Humankind had evolved the ability to change itself into something else. She—and others dedicated to serving the Creator—must stand in the criminals’ way.
Groaning, she reopened the sickness bag.
―――
Hours of tedium crawled by. The first wave of the oncoming storm passed over, and a second wave hit. Graysha yawned, which reminded her to check the wall clock. It read 3:02 a.m., and her fourth to last specimen had finished. Three more cultures, and hope would be gone—but she was ready. During the last few hours, she’d made peace with her fears. Whatever happened now, she would be given the strength to face it.
And she would have Lindon.
She walked back out into the lab, mentally preparing herself for the last disappointing moments of her search, and stared at the red-bar reading—then at tube 84, which she’d replaced in its tray.
Negative. Red bar. S. gaeaii growth had established but ended. Too sleepy to do anything but keep acting on autopilot, she wondered if she’d inoculated too sparingly. She had done that once as a grad student, years ago.
She ran the backup, tube 83. It, too, scanned negative. She couldn’t have missed both tubes.
Nervous energy made her pulse surge. What about the control culture? She ran it. It, too, read negative. The other bacterium, by itself, didn’t release free chlorine.
The significance of these readings filtered in through her thick aching skull. This was a solution, another bacterium that inhibited the CFC-killing organisms. This was a chance at life for Bee and Sarai.
Instinct flung her arms toward the ceiling. Thank you! she shouted silently. Thank you! Hurrying back to the computer, she identified the organism on Varberg’s inventory as Streptomyces bovii. Genegineered for soil enrichment, it did not cross-inhibit any of the terraforming soil streps. Rained down on soil, it would be harmless. Possibly even beneficial.
No, wait. She couldn’t start inoculating clouds yet. She didn’t know if S. bovii could survive under cloud-borne conditions. She’d need techs to start growing it in quantity, producing its natural antibiotic. That biochemical could be cloud-sprayed immediately—within as little as two circadays if she used all the glassware left in the Gaea building, and if the media kitchen had stock on hand to finish the work, and if Gaea Consortium had left them any airworthy planes.
What would she do once the media stocks or airplane fuel ran out? The supply ships might never come again.
The consequences of their decision to stay finally seemed real. Denied tech support, could the colony survive?
Another yawn squeezed her eyes shut while pressing her mouth wide open. Actually, abstract discussions of the future would have to wait. Lindon slept on, black hair dangling over his sleeve, and she couldn’t fight the urge to close her own eyes much longer. Outside her window, snow pellets swirled.
She forced herself to keep moving. After inoculating every TSY flask on hand with S. bovii, she sheathed her loop dropper and locked down the water bath. When she was finally satisfied she had everything prepped, she checked the time again—4:14. Gently shaking Lindon’s shoulder, she murmured, “Hey, Lindon. Hey.”
He blinked at her.
“It’s after four, and I found a strep that will probably do the job, and you shouldn’t be sleeping alone.”
He pushed awkwardly off the countertop, arms wobbling. “Found it? How long was I asleep?”
“Not long enough. Lindon, what’s the chance your pastor is awake at this hour of the night?”
He stretched, blinked, and stared.
Not that wide awake after all, she decided, amused. “I’ve got to lie down,” she said, “but I don’t want Gaea housing to myself. Do you think your pastor might be awake?”
A light of understanding switched on in his eyes. He slipped down off the stool and seized her shoulders. “He’s a light sleeper.”
“I won’t be, tonight—I mean this morning. I’m about ready to fall over.”
He kissed the top of her head, which probably took courage. Every time she turned her head, she smelled dead algae.
“Let’s not rush things,” he said. “We’ll rest for now. Our time begins tomorrow.”
“Yes.” How ever long that time might be. She waved off the lights. “Duncan,” she called, “let’s turn in.” With a solemn wink, she silently asked Lindon not to say more, not yet.
The group kept silence all the way down the narrow concrete stairs.
Acknowledgments
Writing this book, and then updating it from the Bantam Spectra version, I leaned on the medical expertise of Bob Flaherty, the terraforming wisdom of Steve Gillett, and the physiological and psychological work of Donald M. Joy. It took Steve Laube’s persistence to keep me on track and Karen Schurrer’s insight to focus and refine the project.
Karen Hancock, thank you again for suggestions and encouragement, for setting an example of excellence and reliance on the Lord.
Len and Cindy and the clan, Bruce and Rebecca, Sam and Cindy, John and Susanna; Dave and Carolyn; Dwight and Maria, Sam and Priscilla; Mona, Matthew, Natalia, Tana, Sharon, Martha and Chris; Brett and Roberta and the girls, Cheryl, Poppa and Joyce; Ben and Jerolyn; Gayla and Basia . . . thank you for reflecting light along the way. He really does shine brightest in the darkest times.
About
the Author
Kathy Tyers published her first science fiction novel in 1987 and has been writing ever since. She’s published ten novels, including two authorized novels for the Star Wars expanded universe—The Truce at Bakura and Balance Point—and her original science fiction series Firebird.
She has also published a travel book, co-authored a book with classical guitarist Christopher Parkening, and recently published the writing reference Writing Deep Viewpoint: Invite Your Readers Into the Story. If she isn’t writing, she might be teaching a flute lesson, mentoring a hopeful new author, or battling weeds in her vegetable garden. Kathy lives in Montana with her husband William Gillin.
Visit her website: www.KathyTyers.com
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