The Druid Gene

by Jennifer Foehner Wells

  Selpis pulled her lips back in an approximation of a smile, and her large eyes gazed at the black ceiling. “I don’t believe I’ve ever explained this to anyone. I’ve never had a child of my own to share the wonder of the Cunabula with. Everyone just knows.”

  Darcy began to feel impatient. “Knows what?”

  The reptile’s neck elongated and her head tilted thoughtfully to the side, as though she were preparing to tell a child a story. She blinked slowly. “The Cunabula was a very powerful civilization that existed long ago, so long that very little of them remains extant, except for all of us, of course. Some have called them gods, others geniuses, others intrepid scientists. Whatever we may think they were, all we know of them exists as fragments of digital language, a few literary works, and the histories of the peoples who claimed to know them or at least know of them.”

  Nembrotha put in, “There are many, many objects attributed to them, but none of them have any provenance. Most of it’s just fripperdoodle.”

  “Fripperdoodle” didn’t fully translate for some reason, but based on context, Darcy took it to mean something along the lines of hogwash or crap or nonsense. Nembrotha was either using some kind of colloquialism or had made up a word.

  “I’ve heard this word before—Cunabula,” Darcy said slowly. “What did they do that was so important? I don’t understand.”

  Selpis nodded solemnly. “We owe them life.” She gestured grandly around the room. “They left the seeds of life on worlds throughout the galaxy, giving rise to all of us. And into each seed they programmed a genetic key that links all of us together, for better or for worse.”

  Nembrotha made a gurgling sound and drew themself up into a narrower, thinner pose. “That ‘key’ is Mensententia, the common language.”

  Selpis leaned forward, curiosity plain on her features. “It normally manifests during puberty or at some other time of great change in a youth’s life journey. But not on your world?”

  Darcy drew her brows together. “You’re saying this language isn’t learned? It’s innate?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. We have many languages. There is no common language.” Her eyes drifted around the room again, taking in the incredible diversity. “All of these people speak the same language?”

  “Yes. We are raised with a native tongue, but when we reach an age where we might travel among the stars, the common language emerges to prepare us for the journey. The Cunabula were very wise. They knew it would keep us on a more even footing, minimize catastrophic misunderstandings and wars.”

  “Too bad they didn’t eliminate greed while they were at it,” Nembrotha said wetly, their head stalks sweeping the room as though making a point about all of them. They sagged a bit, flattening out.

  Selpis gestured at Darcy, her bulbous fingertips splayed. “Your species may have evolved without the Cunabula’s interference.”

  “How would I determine that?” Darcy asked.

  Nembrotha shouted over her, outraged, “That’s blasphemous!”

  Selpis said patiently, “It is not. It is entirely possible. With all of the stars in all the galaxy, you think it’s impossible that life could arise independently? I say it’s not only possible, it’s very probable. The fact that there aren’t more encounters like this simply speaks to the notion that independently evolved species may be remote or skittish or so entirely foreign we cannot recognize them.”

  “I disagree! There are only three possibilities!” Nembrotha shouted as they resumed their version of agitated pacing. They turned abruptly, a frothy substance oozing from the O of their mouth as they proclaimed, “Either a genetic defect was accidentally introduced early on in their evolution, preventing the expression of Mensententia among her people, which would seem to be almost impossible. Or, she comes from a planet of idiots, too stupid to use it yet. Or, she comes from the warrior planet that the Cunabula engineered!”

  Selpis stared at Nembrotha for a long moment. Her gaze unfocused and her mouth gaped slightly, her eyes shifting back and forth in their orbits before sliding slowly to evaluate Darcy with a questioning look that was slowly transmuting into a hopeful one.

  Darcy wanted to shrink inside herself. Every individual in her immediate vicinity had gone silent, waiting for her to remark upon Nembrotha’s surprisingly loud declaration. She was in a fishbowl. All around her, the hush rippled out like a wave until the entire room had been silenced, every eye or eyelike organ pointed at her.

  “She’s not stupid. You can see that plainly in her expression,” Selpis breathed.

  A gravelly, disdainful sound burbled up out of Nembrotha, and their stalks folded back, their body sagging against the floor as though defeated. Their voice, too, was just a whisper. “She hardly looks like a warrior. She’s all round and fleshy. I doubt she could best me! Even the cerebral sectilians look scrappier than that girl.”

  The quiet was almost unbearable. Darcy’s mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure what they wanted her to say, but it seemed like every person there hoped that her mere presence had generated some kind of opportunity. It was beginning to feel like a bad, quasi-religious experience. Thoughts sifted like snowflakes through her brain. She latched on to one of them.

  She blurted out, “It has to be a genetic mutation. Humans can’t make their own vitamin C. There are four enzymes required in the liver to manufacture L-ascorbate from glucose, and humans can’t make it, though nearly every other animal on Earth can. Our gene for L-gulonolactone oxidase was broken at some point in our early evolutionary history. We have to constantly ingest vitamin C to prevent scurvy.”

  “Oh, bother.” Nembrotha sank even lower to the floor.

  A soft titter broke out behind Darcy.

  Her face felt hot and she rushed to continue, “I’m just saying. We humans…we may be ignorant of all of—this—going on in the universe, but we aren’t stupid. We do, however, seem to be very unlucky, genetically.”

  Far to her left, a snort rang out. Behind Selpis, someone cackled.

  The entire room erupted with discordant laughter.

  Darcy wished she could make a hasty exit, wished she could stomp away and hide somewhere. Why did everyone in this place think she was a fool? She was torn between standing defiantly and attempting to stare them all down or curling up in a ball and pretending she wasn’t there. She was paralyzed in that moment of indecision, watching the faces around her contorting in hilarity at her expense, when something poked her in the side. She whirled to face a hymenoptera.

  “You there. The mistress wants you. Don’t try anything funny, anthropoid.”

  He was not Tesserae71.

  9

  The Lovek leaned into the wall, palms on either side of his head, drinking in his first sight of the drudii, at long last.

  He was tense and salivating. These were moments he’d hoped for over a lifetime. He was going to savor them as much as he would fine food or drink. He’d have the rest of his life to recall them.

  He didn’t want to miss a microsecond. He didn’t want to even blink.

  She stood there alone, fidgeting. He was making her wait for Hain. He wanted to see how she was coping with the stress of the confinement. So far, she knew next to nothing about his business. His people had been instructed to keep her in the dark. He wanted to watch her react. He wanted to smell her reacting, hear her heart rhythm change, hear the blood thunder through her veins when she learned the details.

  Hain said she was well enough for a confrontation now. Her brain had recovered completely from the trauma of the intricate implantation surgery. She’d been well cared for, every need met, kept calm and on the highest-quality regenerative supplementation, though it had hardly been needed. Her recovery time had been remarkably quick. Still, no expense had been spared to get her in the best physical form possible. He’d allowed her to be placed in the cargo bay for a few moments to put her on edge as the reality of her situation here began to clarify, every moment surveilled.

  The fact t
hat she didn’t have the common language was an interesting puzzle. He didn’t put any stock in the maunderings of the disciples of the Cunabula. That species had died out long ago because they were not survivors. Why should any credence be given to the pursuits of evolutionary losers?

  The galaxy was at war. It always had been and always would be. No single planet could change that. It was the way of things.

  What the girl didn’t know was that a small window had been cut out, precisely at his eye level, and replaced with a very special, very expensive material that was perfect for occasions just like this one. With a tap of his finger on the room control, that small span of wall between them had disappeared, leaving just a nanoscale sheet. On his side, it was completely transparent. However, from her point of view, inside the room, it appeared indistinguishable from the rest of the wall.

  But he could smell her. She hadn’t had a proper cleanse since the hours after they’d picked her up. On her world they would still use water for bathing, would know nothing of an ionic cleanse or a full-body brush-grooming and vacuum.

  Though Hain’s bugs had sanitized her, they couldn’t completely remove the trappings of her culture. Her full, crimped hair reeked of a riot of perfumes—floral, vegetal, synthetic, and animal musk—hinting at the use of a multitude of enhancement products. Vain little beast.

  These were subtle compared to her own bodily scents. He wanted nothing more than to bury his nose in her armpits and pubis, inhaling those earthy odors cached in her peculiarly scant body hair, but he couldn’t do that. He had to keep his distance. He could smell their alluring aroma, even from the other side of the wall. It was enough.

  She turned around and around, nervously plucking at her garment, taking in all the details of the room, her eyes always returning to the door. There was a reclining platform she could make use of, but she chose to remain standing. That was well. She knew the value of remaining alert, even if it wasn’t a conscious decision.

  She was barely old enough to qualify for adult status. Hopefully that meant she would be canny, resourceful, eager to fight. Sometimes inexperience made for an unpredictable opponent—all to the good.

  He felt the moment when her mood shifted from anxiety to boredom and then to annoyance. It was a subtle shift in her demeanor. She was still tense, but now her posture indicated disdain and anger. There were some things that were consistent among anthropoid species.

  So, she wasn’t a timid rodent. She had some fire. He silently rejoiced.

  The Lovek turned to Hain. “It is time.”

  She nodded and inserted a tiny transmitter into the auditory organ hidden behind one of the lichens that grew slowly across her neck. Then she glided through the door and into the room with the druid girl.

  The girl instantly straightened. She watched Hain warily. She didn’t trust Hain, that was clear. They faced each other.

  He spoke, low and gruff, the microphone on his collar picking up his voice. As long as he didn’t speak too loudly, the girl wouldn’t hear him through the wall. They’d tested her hearing acumen in the lab before putting her out on the floor with the rest of the cargo. As expected, it was far inferior to his own. “You will tread a fine line now. You must gain her trust while meeting my objectives.”

  The sharp scent of ozone met his nostrils as Hain mentally readjusted her strategy. He chuckled softly to himself. Hain didn’t like surprises, but she was always in command of herself—always the arboreal queen. And always his servant. He made certain of that.

  Hain activated the subtle servo-motor that augmented her whisper-soft, reedy voice, made it sound more solid, more mammalian, more like that of an animal that breathed with lungs. She’d been working on a design that would allow her even more volume and fluctuation in tone, but it wasn’t ready yet. It was tricky to tap into the brain and make it do things it was not designed to. As a result, her voice still sounded bland, breathy, and unfeeling. That would work against her here. But he had faith she could accomplish his goals no matter how she felt about them personally. Her opinions were inconsequential.

  Hain said, “This is a very important interview. Your responses are being recorded and will affect your future more than you can possibly imagine. Take your time and answer thoroughly. I have grown fond of you. I want to see you well placed.”

  The Lovek smirked. Well played, Hain.

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Please, will you just tell me what you’re going to do with me?”

  “In time. State your name for the record, please.”

  The girl’s lips twitched in defiance. A moment passed. Finally, she gritted out, “My name is Darcy Eberhardt. I believe you know that.”

  Hain lowered her gaze to the floor, then raised it slowly to meet the girl’s. “Darcy is your gift-name?”

  The girl looked confused.

  “The one given by your immediate ancestors. I have learned that it is normally imbued with their hopes and dreams for their offspring. What does yours mean?”

  The girl looked reluctant, but answered, “Darcy is…it’s my mother’s favorite character in a book. It means ‘dark.’”

  “Dark? How enigmatic you are, Darcy.” Hain raised a hand elegantly and swayed in her reedlike way. “Let us begin again, for the sake of your mother’s dreams for you. Please state your name for the record.”

  The girl’s eyes looked glossy. Her voice grew soft and husky. “My name is Darcy Eberhardt.”

  “Good. What is your species?”

  She hesitated, looked confused. “I’m human.”

  “Are you? Are you certain of that?” Hain settled herself on the reclining platform and gestured for the girl to join her.

  Darcy sat down nearby, but didn’t respond to the query.

  “Darcy, do you know what DNA is?”

  A cross expression came over the girl’s features. “Of course I know what DNA is! I was in medical school when you swiped me—I was going to be a doctor.”

  Hain smiled patiently. “Good. Then you will understand what I’m about to show you.” Hain held out a small multiuse digital processor that she’d outfitted with a durable, rubbery shell and a special screen coating to prevent the girl from frying the electronics. Hain always thought ahead to such contingencies. “You see, Darcy, I am a scientist. I analyzed the DNA of all of the individuals we collected on your world. This is what their genetic profile looks like.” Hain handed the tablet to the girl.

  The girl took it, held it carefully, and looked as though she was studying it intently. After some time passed, she looked up at Hain questioningly.

  Hain leaned in and tapped the tablet. She’d done the same for him. He knew what the girl was seeing on the screen.

  “This is how your DNA compares to all of theirs. As you can see, roughly seventy-five percent of your DNA is human. But there are many loci on your genetic map that are foreign to that species. And there’s more, Darcy.”

  The girl’s brows drew together as she scanned the tablet.

  Hain tapped the screen. “All of the other humans have twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. This is not an atypical number among sentient anthropoid races. But you have an extra chromosome that is unpaired and much larger than the rest. You have forty-seven chromosomes, total. As I’m sure even you know, something of this nature would normally mark an individual as a genetic aberration, doomed to a short, difficult life with multiple deficiencies and encumbrances. However, this extra chromosome is not harmful to you. It is special.”

  The girl’s hands trembled as they clutched the tablet. “This is my karyotype?”

  “Yes, Darcy. I ran it myself three times. You are different, but perhaps you already knew that?”

  The girl shook her head. “No, no—you got my DNA mixed up with someone else’s. Or there was contamination in the sample. This can’t be right.”

  “I assure you that is not the case.”

  The girl sprang up and turned, boiling over with anger. “Why are you telling me this? What do you want with
me? Where’s Adam? Goddamn you to hell! I want to go home!”

  Hain looked thoughtful but was unmoved. “When you were very small, you preferred the out-of-doors. You felt at home there, safe in a natural setting. Did you ever play a game—perhaps with a caregiver or another child—a game of hide and find? You were, perhaps, enthralled with the game and hid well—so well that no one could find you? Did you become giddy as they searched for you until they were frantic? Did you look down upon your small body and believe yourself invisible?”

  The girl gasped. Her heart rate spiked and her chemistry went haywire.

  Ah, Hain. Such a masterful bitch.

  “That was not a juvenile flight of fancy. It was not your imagination. You were invisible, to them.”

  The Lovek whispered to Hain, “You’ve triggered a memory. Keep pushing.”

  “On many worlds there are sea creatures that are capable of changing the textures and color patterns of their skins to blend in with their surroundings.”

  The girl sank to her knees.

  “I believe you know of what I speak. Millennia ago an inaricaan scientist co-opted these kinds of genes and incorporated them into a special strand of DNA which was given to your ancestors for a very specific purpose. These genes function more like a bacterial plasmid than an autosomal chromosome. You have this ability, among others.”

  The girl looked terrified. “Others? There’s more?”

  “You are a descendant of a powerful subspecies, Darcy. At least one member of it lived on your world and interbred with your ancestors. Your lineage is clear. My analysis shows that you have inherited every major trait.”

  “But, I…” The girl slumped against the wall, right under his nose. The nanite film held.

  Hain moved to stand directly opposite him, but gave no indication that she knew he was there. “Your ancestors did not pass on any practical information about your abilities or how to use them? You never witnessed any individual in your genetic group demonstrating anything unusual?”