“I might be stuck in my ways, but I like the feeling that I am in control.” She had told anyone who asked, wondering if people who had eschewed e-readers for good old-fashioned books had felt the same way at the beginning of the century.
It took nearly an hour to reach the farm from the small airport, often on poorly maintained roads. No wonder they were in a driver-operated Jeep.
“Autocars operate using the Advanced Global Positioning System in combination with magnetic strips embedded in the roadbed itself,” Lin explained, “This road has not been retrofitted with the magnetic strips yet.”
The Jeep swerved to avoid a large hole in the road and bounced as it hit a smaller one. Edith braced herself for more as the road dwindled to nothing more than gravel and large swathes of muddy bog.
“Completely understandable,” she said as they lurched and bounced over the rough road. Her teeth ached from clenching her jaw at each dip and jump of the Jeep. It was, after all, what she had expected when she had first heard of the assignment.
The low-slung buildings appeared in the distance before them.
“As you can see, the farm is a typical CAFO,” Lin said proudly, wrenching the wheel to the right as the Jeep jumped through a large puddle. The mud spattering the sides of the Jeep reeked, as did the farm which could now be seen clearly.
“A mile to the west is a village of around 5,000.”
“Ah, yes, a CAFO.” Edith replied, trying to fake enthusiasm and failing utterly. Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations had been banned in the Reformed United States for nearly three-quarters of a century. Shut down by the Collapse, they were opened for a short time in the 2030s before being closed down again after a series of protests by animal rights activists as well as the Progressive party.
Edith had read the ample research that indicated that CAFOs were not only bad for the animals confined within them, they were also incredibly damaging to the environment and a breeding ground for disease.
“I’m surprised that EcoNu signed off on this.” Edith commented coolly, and Lin stared at her in confusion.
“Dr. Hainey, they asked for it specifically. This is all, how do you say, to spec?”
The Quonset style huts were approximately four meters tall by five meters wide and stretched at least 25 meters in length. The smell, even when they were a quarter of a mile out, had been overwhelming. Edith would have asked more questions about EcoNu’s orders if she hadn’t have been gasping for air, choking on the noxious fumes as the Jeep rattled to a stop.
The workers on site met the two at their car and quickly handed Edith and Lin rubber masks with gaskets and seals. Edith’s eyes burned, streaming tears from the stench of methane as she fumbled with the straps. One of the workers helped tighten hers and once sealed, she was able to breathe again without difficulty. Without the masks they would not be able to withstand the putrid air. The outside of the facility was barren, and in the distance, she could see the waste lagoons brimming with liquid feces.
They weren’t too terribly far from a village, at least, that is what Lin had indicated. Edith pursed her lips. How could the villagers stand it? One change in direction from the wind and the stench would hit the village head on.
This was why CAFOs had been banned in her country. The impact on the environment was devastating and the lawsuits had been going strong right before the Collapse.
Edith had read about it in her history books. After the Second American Civil War, all of the states except Hawaii and Alaska had reunited and many things had changed. The citizens’ rights to a clean environment were high on that list. Corporations simply did not have the power in her country that they had earlier in the century. And from what Edith could tell, that was a good thing.
Edith stood there looking at the waste lagoons. Why would EcoNu okay a CAFO? What possible benefit could that have?
“Those waste ponds are nearly full.”
Lin’s expression was obscured by the mask.
“Yes, Dr. Hainey, they should be full soon, but there is a tanker coming to drain them tomorrow.
Edith watched Lin as he stood there, rigidly, his head bowed down. It was hard to tell, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion he was lying at that moment. She just couldn’t figure out why.
She felt as if she were missing something, and tried to remember the specifics about how waste lagoons were dealt with once they were full. She would have to look it up. It wasn’t her area of expertise, nor under her control for that matter, but if the Chinese were messing up and violating any health codes, EcoNu would need to be informed.
Meanwhile, Lin kept his silence.
Edith’s job was to test the pigs and ensure that all of the sampled swine were healthy. Or at least as healthy as swine could be in a CAFO. That was her job. Nevertheless, she made a mental note to speak with Scott Dorns about the waste lagoons. Perhaps the Chinese had misunderstood EcoNu’s requests when creating the project.
“Oh my God.” Edith stared at the massive numbers of pigs within the low-slung building
It had almost certainly taken them around the clock effort to prepare for her visit. Despite this, Edith could not disguise her horror at seeing the reality of a CAFO up close and personal.
“We recently reduced their numbers. Any that were not growing as fast as the others were processed.” Lin said.
“How many did you cull?”
“Fifty,” Lin said, stiffening yet again.
She didn’t call him on it, but now she was sure he was lying. If Lin claimed fifty, then the number of culled might have been closer to twice that. Edith tried to imagine another hundred head of swine crammed into the pens. She felt sick. This was beyond cruel. How could EcoNu have allowed this?
“These all received their last rounds of EcoNu growth inoculations yesterday.” Lin said, sounding nervous.
“I’ll need to sample at least ten percent. Blood, saliva, and feces if you don’t mind,” Edith replied.
She tamped down her reaction over the waste lagoon and the state of affairs inside of the building. Saying anything more would only make the man defensive, especially if he was doing what EcoNu had asked. She would wait and give a full report to Scott when she returned and submitted the blood sample work-ups.
Lin nodded and led the way to the small testing station, complete with vials for blood samples, lab coats and heavy duty rubber boots.
Hours later, with racks of samples in coolers, Edith, and Lin entered a small, nondescript concrete building a short distance away. Here they rinsed off with water from a local aquifer, and drank some tea, before removing the lab coats and returning to the vehicle to make the drive back to Guiyang. Edith was pleased she wouldn’t have to stay anywhere near the disgusting stench. Lin looked relieved that there had been no additional probing questions.
By evening, Edith was ensconced in a plush hotel overlooking the lights of Guiyang.
The next morning she returned to the airport in a small autocar, well rested, slightly overwarm and sweating despite the cool morning air. Edith gave it little thought. She had been experiencing menopause symptoms for several years now and wrote it off as having to do with that. Especially since she had such a healthy appetite – she had eaten every scrap of the breakfast and then dug into the large bag of treats she had purchased for the kids yesterday evening. Her stomach rumbled again. She reached for the bag, wishing she had bought more.
While the autocar drove smoothly along, she composed a quick note to her supervisor.
Transmission Packet
ECONU-HAINEYES to ECONU-DORNSS
/BEGIN TRANSMISSION
COMPLETED REQUESTED SAMPLING OF 10% OF SWINE POP YESTERDAY. ALL SAMPLES INCLUDE WORKUP AS REQ’D. SLIGHTLY ELEVATED TEMP BUT NON-FEBRILE. GROWTH ON TRACK FOR OUR PREDICTIONS. WILL GIVE FULL REPORT UPON RETURN, BUT FARM IS SET UP AS CAFO WITH WASTE LAGOONS. WTH?
/END TRANSMISSION
In the weeks to follow, her schedule was filled with trips, conventions, and speaking engageme
nts. She only had a short few days of down time at home to see her family before flying to Europe, Latin America, and D.C. for various medical conferences.
Politically Correct
“Widespread intellectual and moral docility may be convenient for leaders in the short term, but it is suicidal for nations in the long term. One of the criteria for national leadership should therefore be a talent for understanding, encouraging, and making constructive use of vigorous criticism.” – Carl Sagan
Date: 03.18.2097
Earth – Cape Canaveral, Florida
The conference table in the boardroom of World Geographic was cluttered with cups, papers, and, headed by one rather frustrated Anthony Vogt. His head was pounding. Science should never be mixed with bureaucracy. In fact, bureaucracy seems to be the antithesis of rational thought.
“All I’m saying is that we can’t be elitists,” one of the board members said, smiling gently and speaking as if Vogt were a small child.
He maintained a calm demeanor, but inside Vogt seethed with frustration. Yes, they could be elitists. Moreover, they should be elitists. There was no need to send the weak or mundane when there were untold thousands of brilliant, overachieving ‘tens of tens’ out there, waiting for their chance to journey to the stars.
“Mr. Elliott, with all due respect, we can and should be elitists in this matter. The odds against each of these individual’s survival is staggering.” Anthony pointed to the view screen. “They are not going on a picnic on some deserted island, we are sending them over one hundred twenty one trillion miles away, alone, to an alien planet with 1.2 g’s earth gravity that may, or may not, be capable of sustaining them. To simply send individuals who are not ‘tens of tens’, as the Selection Committee has chosen to refer to them, is idiocy.”
Marshall Elliott bristled. Anthony realized that the man probably interpreted that last word as an attack on his own intelligence. And while the question of his intelligence was certainly an issue, it hadn’t been his intention to insult the man.
Jenn Rivers, Vogt’s assistant, sighed quietly, but Anthony, sitting next to her, heard. He realized that while she may have become used to his lack of tact, the board members had not. Her pursed lips sent him a definite “I told you so.” She had tried to warn him before the meeting, even given him a note that gave a short summary of each board member, along with suggestions on how to handle them. It had been impossible to read it while fielding a flurry of calls that morning.
She slid it towards him, pointing to one line. It read, Marshall Elliott will fight the ‘tens of tens’ approach. Avoid any references to intelligence and emphasize the versatility of multiple disciplines instead. He nodded tersely, frustrated, wishing he had read it before engaging the blowhard.
He stared at Jenn’s note for a moment, trying to figure out how to smooth over the effect his words had on Elliott. It was well known that Marshall Elliott, unlike most of the brilliant scientists and doctors that sat on World Geographic’s board of directors, had secured his coveted position through obscene amounts of donations in addition to plenty of political maneuvering. That said, it wasn’t in anyone’s best interest to alienate the man. He was powerful, well-connected, and they had already had enough delays.
To Dr. Vogt’s right, across the table and three chairs down, another board member spoke up, “I was under the impression that the D.O.V.E. probes had verified the ability for the planet to sustain life. That the topography and climate were Earth-like and that humans would be able to settle in the meridian with no problems.”
Anthony frowned as he tried to remember the woman’s name.
Jenn leaned over and whispered, “Trina Solbe, director of Art Acquisitions.”
Steven nodded, “The D.O.V.E. probe was detailed, but it couldn’t tell us everything we needed to know. The D.O.V.E. probes taught us a great deal about the consistency of the atmosphere and its breathability, but we have no way of knowing if there are any allergens or airborne viral components. We also did exhaustive soil analysis, but until we are able to actually handle the soil directly, we have no idea if there are microscopic organisms that will find Terran crops too tasty to resist. That is why we have included enough fuel for Calypso to make a return journey. It will be a close thing, but we must cover all our bases.”
He pointed to the view screen, which flashed through facts and figures as he mentioned them, “We know that the gravity is 1.2 g’s, so it is stronger than that of Earth by a significant degree. This is why we must test extensively for, and avoid, anyone with a family history of osteoporosis or other osteopathic difficulties or a family history of heart disease.”
“We also know that there are plants on Zarmina’s World, including what may be rather invasive and poisonous ones in the southern hemisphere, but we have no way of knowing until we arrive there whether or not plants from Earth will grow. Initial testing has indicated that Earth plants may need some genetic modification to be truly successful.” He pointed to the list of specialties on the view screen, “That is why we need the multiple specialties in each of the colonists. We can’t take our chances on having a few who specialize in only one area - each member of Calypso must have multiple specialties and be willing to learn and work as an understudy in others.”
Solbe, a woman in her late sixties with soft white hair and lively hazel eyes, nodded, “And this other requirement? The listing on the I.Q.?”
Anthony nodded, “Yes, the Selection Team voted unanimously to set the requirement for an I.Q. level of one hundred thirty-five or more for all crew and colonists.” A murmur ran through the conference room.
Solbe raised her eyebrows, “And how many have qualified under this particular requirement, Dr. Vogt?”
“Less than two for every one hundred applicants.”
“And how many applicants are you currently processing through?”
“We have received nearly sixty thousand applications in the last week alone.”
“So that would be...”
“One thousand one hundred and ninety-two applicants last week qualified as 135 or higher on the Strick-Bormann I.Q. test.” Anthony allowed himself a small, almost smug smile. “All in all, to date we have over five thousand individuals who have passed the Level One testing.”
“For a crew of 250?” Solbe smiled when he nodded, “Thank you, Dr. Vogt, it seems to me that the Intelligence Quotient is not a matter of elitism, but more of simply weeding through the vast number of applicants.”
She turned to Marshall Elliott, who was still frowning, “It also establishes a baseline for those who will be given this amazing and challenging opportunity. “
Marshall Elliott was not deterred, “This other requirement, however, is ridiculous.”
Anthony felt his temper flare again, “And that would be?”
“The age requirement. You have listed a maximum age, maximum, of forty-five years at the time of departure.”
“Yes, this is due in great part to the higher gravity. Younger individuals, children even, will be able to adapt and survive better than those in their late 40’s or 50’s.”
A pinch-faced woman in her late thirties seated next to Elliott chimed in, “And additionally, you have listed that at least,” she paused and sifted through the packet that each board member had been given, “seventy-five percent of the female crew should be ages twenty through thirty. You aren’t just elitist, you’re sexist. I certainly don’t see any qualification like that for the men.”
Dr. Vogt’s face flushed red with anger.
Jenn quickly spoke up, “Actually, Dr. Zahtjev, the Selection Team is made up of three women and five men. And it was one of the women who suggested we put in that qualification for the women. It was unanimously supported by everyone on the Team.”
Jenn’s interjection gave Anthony just a few seconds to cool off, and she had set the stage for what he would say next, “Again, we are not sending these people off on a picnic. We are sending them on a journey across trillions of miles,
unbelievably far from home.”
He paused and his voice softened, “We are asking those brave women to be the progenitors of mankind in a distant solar system. To be the first to carry new life on an alien world. To do so, they must be in perfect health and of optimum child-bearing potential. It is not sexist, it is a matter of being a realist. Most of these women will be in prime child-bearing age upon their arrival.
For the remaining twenty-five percent of women who are age thirty-one through forty-five at the time of departure, they are still young enough to possibly reproduce with IVF treatment if necessary, foster other children or even carry fertilized implanted embryos if their own ova is not viable. To not make these decisions now means that we send our best and brightest 121 trillion miles away to live their lives and die, without being able to pass on what they have learned to a new generation. We would be asking them to sacrifice not only their lives but the possibility of producing life. Would you deny them that?”
His explanations seemed to satisfy the more strident members of the board and the meeting turned to other areas of the upcoming mission. The Cryogenics tanks and the emergency procedures training were next on the agenda.
That evening, hours after the meetings had wrapped up for the night, Dr. Lana Zahtjev sat in front of her computer, staring at the screen. She knew she was far from beautiful. Men had never looked at her in that way and she had been unlucky in her few, limited relationships.
Yet something had moved deep within her as she remembered Anthony Vogt’s words, paraphrasing them as she spoke them aloud in the empty room, “To live and die, without being able to pass on what I have learned to a new generation.”
She bit her lip, a wave of longing washed over her. Most days it wasn’t bad. Most days she could manage to ignore it, tamp it down, this complicated and disabling wish for something she did not have, had never really had. She had learned to accept her solitary existence as a thing she could not change. She knew she wasn’t the easiest person to live with, her last serious relationship had never progressed past the occasional dinner and drinks.
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