“Hey,” Stone said, putting a soothing hand on her arm. It was warm from the non-Joe. “I know it’s a lot.”
“Yeah,” she said, the acknowledgment bursting out of her. “No kidding.”
“I’m just glad you’re back safe.”
She leaned into him in a half hug and tried not to let her thoughts become words. If I hadn’t caved to Kaufman, none of this would have happened. None of us would ever have dreamed of a future without humans, let alone needed to live in one.
It wasn’t fair to herself—but it for damn sure wasn’t fair that they were stuck here, either.
She gripped Stone a little tighter.
Another two jumps and it was December already. Sometimes she got to stick around for months, sometimes only a few weeks. Time flies when you’re not ruled by it.
She reappeared in Stone’s quarters once again. Their quarters, really. She rarely went to hers anymore. The room was pitch black, and Stone was softly snoring away in bed. Vanhi threw off her work uniform, found a night shirt, and tucked herself in behind him.
“Hmm?” he asked vaguely, shifting aside for her, so that she pressed against his back with an arm slung over him. Stone automatically entwined his fingers with hers.
“Just me,” she reassured him, nosing at his neck.
“Thought you might miss New Year’s,” he said, voice sleep heavy.
Had it really been that long? Almost three months.
“Why do you keep waiting for me?” she asked.
He was clearly too groggy to understand. “Why wouldn’t I wait for you?”
Three months is a long time to . . . to hope to see someone again. She could easily imagine what it would feel like, not to see Stone every day, but thinking she might. Now is he coming back? Oh, someone’s behind me, is it him? The excitement, the anxiety, the constant state of readiness—it had to hurt. Had to be difficult to live with every day.
“I missed you,” he said.
She held him tighter. “I missed you, too.” She’d only seen him a half an hour ago, but she suddenly realized how very long ago that half an hour had been. She missed him desperately now, in this very instant, as though to make up for all that time she hadn’t experienced.
“What do you miss most about winter? Back on Earth?” he asked, oblivious to her sudden, relentless need for him. “I miss coquito. It’s like eggnog, but better. Would never drink non-Joe again if I could have one more sip of coquito. What about you?”
She shook off her swell of emotion, trying to keep her voice steady so as not to worry him. “My little sister begging for a Christmas tree,” she said. “Papa hated it. You know how some kids go around bugging their parents for a puppy? It was like that, but for a Christmas tree. She liked the lights—the Christmas lights—just like Diwali lights. Papa would go out of his way to make Diwali extra special for us, and I think it was in an effort to keep Swara from asking about a Christmas tree once winter hit. But, when you’re young, and most of your friends’ family traditions are different than yours, it’s difficult to understand why you shouldn’t have a pretty tree like they do. Every year Papa said no, but every year he caved.
“If Swara’d had her way, there would have been a festival of lights every month. She put up strings and strings of them in our bedroom, the little twinkling ones. I always loved them, too, but I made her do all the begging by herself. I miss the lights. And I miss . . .” Her voice caught in her throat.
Now she missed Swara, too. And her parents, and Parth, and everyone—her cousins in Pakistan, her little nephew, Ryan.
She snuggled in deeper and tried not to cry.
Stone rolled over to face her. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing a thumb under her eye. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” she said, trying to sound chipper. But there was a hole in her chest now, and it felt so deep, she wasn’t sure it could ever be filled.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and kissed her.
Vanhi sank into the kiss, letting it take the sadness, letting Stone breathe calmness and love into that deep, dark feeling.
She got to stay for New Year’s. She made some progress with the pods—not in discerning what had caused their original accident, but in deciphering how the Lùhng had disabled them. The strange green blossoming waves the Lùhng had generated had apparently precipitated micro black holes—or something similar: more stable and destructive, yet equally short-lived—within some of the key components. The weapon had indeed been designed to target SD drives specifically.
But she wasn’t sure how such precision targeting was achieved, nor if they would be able to find all of the damaged points, seeing as how each black hole equivalent had evaporated nanoseconds after it was formed, punching perfect little holes directly inside parts that looked otherwise undamaged.
She was anticipating a long drawn-out discussion with Gabriel about the findings when she jumped.
When she came back, she came back grumpy. Facing a blank wall, putting both hands on it to steady herself, she let herself gripe. “Son of a . . .” She was so sick, so utterly sick of—
Someone cleared their throat behind her.
It didn’t sound like Stone.
With a deep breath she straightened, turned—and realized she was in the situation room on Pulse. Every seat at the long table was occupied. Justice stood in front of a wall screen, clearly in the middle of a presentation.
All eyes were on Vanhi, and she tried not to feel embarrassed, but that was easier thought than lived.
Stone, thankfully, was in attendance. “Here, take my seat,” he insisted.
Trying to make herself as small as possible, she sheepishly slunk over to him, plopping herself down in the chair.
“Do you need anything?” he whispered in her ear. “Water?”
“Water, yes, please.” She feigned an itch on her forehead and ducked her head, hiding her face. As Stone moved to the refreshment cart, she apologized and bade Dr. Jax continue.
“It’s all right, we can take a short break if you—”
“Thank you, I’m fine.”
Justice nodded, then cleared her throat. “In summary, I’ve concluded my analysis of the Homo draconem sample. That doesn’t mean I’ve come anywhere close to mapping the genome of the entire Lùhng family—this sample is very old, has likely been made obsolete by their current modifications, and there could be dozens, or hundreds, or, if every individual is uniquely modified, infinite branches on the Homo draconem family tree.
“The good news is, this isn’t simply an academic exercise. I believe my studies provide a firm foundation for addressing our unusual ailments. For instance, as I’m sure many of you know by now, eight people thus far have attempted to get pregnant, and all have been unable.”
Vanhi had spoken with several of the individuals who’d attempted to conceive. They’d each thought they would be the one, that it couldn’t really be a convoy-wide problem. It was almost as though they thought that if they could have a healthy child, their world wouldn’t be so upside-down.
In a way, she knew how they felt. A little semblance of normalcy could go a long way.
“The entire crew, all except for the children under thirteen, have been subject to fertility testing,” Justice continued. “And the results are conclusive. All of our sex cells are unviable. The cell walls are weak—the spermatozoa and ovum annihilate instead of merge. And even when the medical staff attempted to lab-grow embryos for implantation, zygote cleavage did not occur and no blastomeres were formed.
“We don’t have the capacity to clone the same way our fellow convoys did. But I fear, even if we did, we would not be able to produce a viable fetus. I believe there’s an unidentified problem in our genetic code itself, and until we can pinpoint the problem and solve it, we, as a species, cannot procreate.”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. They’d suspected as much, but that didn’t make the confirmation any easier to stomach.
“Now that we are fairly
confident Homo sapiens such as ourselves are obsolete anyway,” Justice went on, “if not outright extinct, we need to decide what’s important to us. It seems obvious, basic even, that we should want to preserve our species. But humans haven’t died out. Our legacy lives on. Why shouldn’t we understand ourselves as just another rung on the ladder of evolution, and accept that time has passed us by?
“Well, practically speaking, this presents a dilemma. If the Lùhng never interact with us again, we’re facing a reality where we all grow old and die aboard a facility that is not designed to care for geriatric patients. There will be no caretakers, no other workers. And someone will inevitably be the last human, alone, left to run the ships by themself.
“So, ultimately, we need to decide how to proceed. Presuming the Progentor isn’t what we suspect—” Vanhi noticed a small hitch in Justice’s voice when she said “Progentor” “—and the Lùhng have no plans to deal with us, no place to take us, then we will live aboard Convoy Twelve for the rest of our lives. If we have no viable children, both our species’ survival and our own personal survival are at risk.
“I, for one, don’t think that’s our path. Further, I believe I can use my understanding of Lùhng DNA to help us. If there’s any chance I can convince the Lùhng to share their modification techniques, we might not be so in the weeds. But, even if I can’t—if, as I said, they’ve totally abandoned us—then I believe the sample we have is enough to set us on the path to developing gene therapies and other modifications that might be able to correct the genetic defect.
“Isn’t that counterintuitive?” asked Glen Harrisburg from the Breath command crew.
“What do you mean?” Justice asked, crossing her arms, jutting out her jaw, clearly perturbed by the interruption.
“If the idea is to preserve Homo sapiens,” Glen continued, “doesn’t modifying our DNA make us something else? Aren’t we just another version of Homo draconem, then? We need to survive, yes, but purity is important. Isn’t that how the other convoys were designed? With an emphasis on genetic preservation? We don’t want to become the Lùhng and lose the very thing we’re trying to save. I feel we should stay away from modifications at all costs; they are clearly a blight on the human virtues we’re striving to preserve.”
Justice made a surprised expression, but quickly squashed it. Nodding to herself and pursing her lips, she leaned on the table to look Glen in the eye, and said pointedly, “First, I’d like to point out that the consortium’s view on genetics was never widely accepted by the majority of geneticists. You might not have been taught about the scientific uproar their decision caused, but I was. The consortium claimed they chose clones to preserve talents—and yes, I’m sure to some degree it did that. But they disregarded the very well-known part environment plays in a person’s life. We are totally our genes, and we are totally our experiences. The two are unquestionably intertwined. I believe they ultimately decided to go with clones to solve a very concrete staffing problem. Above all, they either couldn’t find the volunteers or didn’t want to lose the people they already had. So, they compromised. Whatever the case, their emphasis on genetic consistency has never been ours, and there’s no reason to adopt it now.”
Glen raised a finger, on the verge of interrupting again. She cut him off and continued. “Secondly, human beings have been modifying themselves since time immemorial. Every piercing, swath of body art, and slather of makeup is a modification. Eyeglasses, hearing aids, artificial limbs, all modifications.” She gestured up and down his torso. “Clothes—a classic.
“The thing is, any given modification is neither innately positive or negative. Tattoos you choose for yourself—like Mac’s Pe’a—are good, while tattoos thrust upon you—like in a concentration camp—are bad. It’s the situation, not the tattoo in and of itself, which makes the difference.”
She took a deep breath, centering herself. “As a trans woman, I have modifications that help me fight my body dysmorphia. I am alive today because I was able to change my outer appearance to fit who I am. Other trans women choose to take their modifications even further, others choose to make fewer changes than I have. There’s no one right way to live as a trans person—or cis, or nonbinary, or intersex person, etc.—because there is no ‘right way’ to be human. Individuals are unique and require different modifications—or no modifications—based on their specific wants and needs.
“If humans can modify themselves and their surroundings to keep on living once they’ve been born, to make their lives better, why shouldn’t our entire species be modified if it’s the difference between life and death? And it is, believe me. The line we want to draw between ourselves and the Lùhng—us and them—is artificial. There’s nothing wrong with thinking our current forms have value and deserve to be preserved, but the idea that it’s original model or scrap the whole line, that it’s purity or nothing—which has been a racist dog whistle for centuries, just saying—is all, frankly, fundamentalist bullshit.”
“Yes, but . . .” Glen stuttered. “There is a point where you’re not preserving a species any more, you’ve changed it so much that it’s not the same genus. Not even in the same ballpark. If we’re going to get all high and mighty about saving our race, doesn’t it still have to be our race?”
“This is not a scientific argument you’re making,” she said. “Life isn’t actually divided into the neat taxonomies we try to shove it into—never has been, never will be. All life is a continuum—evolution is a continuum—and evolution guarantees change. It is the ultimate mechanism of preservation; the ability to be modified. There is no biodiversity without it. There are no Homo sapiens—no Homo draconem, no Homo habilis, or Australopithecus, on and on.”
She stood straight and crossed her arms in a dare. “Do you see what I’m getting at? Am I getting through? You don’t exist without modification. None of us do.”
“All right,” Tan said. “Doctor Jax, you’ve made your point. You are absolutely right, we need to adapt to survive. But what concerns me, here, is that we have none of the usual medical safeguards, and no way to apply them. How will you test your ‘modifications,’ be they gene therapy, medications, new prebuilt DNA chains, or otherwise?”
“If I decide to build some humans from scratch, we can discuss the ethical ramifications of failure then. For now, I’m not prepared to go that far. Most testing will have to be done purely through digital modeling. From there, I’ll need volunteers. ”
“Oh, great,” said Glen. “I always wanted to be a guinea pig.”
“Vol-un-t—”
“I’ll do it,” Vanhi said, cutting off Justice’s sarcastic reply.
Everyone turned sharply.
“Especially if these modifications include one to keep me here, in the greater dimensions. I have no problem taking part in whatever human trials you need me to.”
It was the easiest decision she’d ever made. She already felt like her life was one big experiment-gone-wrong. And she’d roped all of these people into it. If it helped the crew, that was more important than any possible harm she might suffer.
Stone squeezed her shoulder, handing her a glass of water.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Justice said. “But I’ll need others. This is going to take a long time, I want to make that clear. There are no magical cures or overnight fixes. And there’s no guarantee, no matter how many resources we pour into this, that it’ll solve anything.”
“We’ll make it happen,” Vanhi countered. “I know we can.”
One Thousand One Hundred and Eleven Days Since the Accident
. . . Or Approximately Three Years
More jumps, more missing time, more hours with Stone and days in the lab. Everything was happening so quickly and so slowly all at once. The mood aboard the convoy shifted instantaneously to Vanhi, though in actuality morale went through dips and curves over long periods.
It had been over a year, and still no Progentor. Justice wasn’t anywhere near developing something sh
e could test on Vanhi, and the SD investigation department was chugging along under Gabriel’s direction just fine.
In fact, Gabriel was certain they’d found the source of the accident, the very reason pod thirty-three had malfunctioned in the first place, tipping over the first domino that sent all the rest toppling.
It was a single line of misexecuted code. Essentially, one if/then command had been misinterpreted by the mini-drive computer as having a secondary “then” action that the programmers hadn’t intended. It was amazing the command had been executed correctly in the thirty-two launches preceding.
Which meant it was no one’s fault, really. One defective command had caused cascading failures.
It was a simple mistake.
With devastating consequences.
Just like my mistakes, Vanhi thought.
And now that Gabriel had the investigation well in hand without her, she wasn’t really sure where she fit in anymore.
When she opened her eyes after the next jump, her vision was blurred—the aftereffects were always slightly different; it felt like being squeezed in and out of your skin through completely different pores. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was surrounded by lights.
They weren’t the delicate lights of a Christmas tree, nor the glaring fluorescents of a clean room, or the harsh pinpoints of lasers. They were everything else—all kinds. Flashlight bulbs, microscope bulbs, night-lights, overhead lamps, faux candles, and emergency exit stripping. Everything glowed.
“What in . . . ?”
As the scene came into focus, she realized she was in the mess hall, but it glittered like a diamond, reflective surfaces and facets everywhere. The walls were lined with lights and bits of shiny things. Most of the tables were empty, save for sets of clustered lights.
Alone, in the center, reading a book at his usual dining spot and wearing sunglasses (of all things), was Stone.
“Look at that, Broki, you win,” he said, lifting the sundial from where it dangled. “Four months and ten hours.”
Noumenon Infinity Page 49
