“You want a picture? Maybe graphs and projections?”
“No, no! Just take me past how three related organisms, two-thirds of them brother and sister, establish a thriving population.”
“Jon, isn't that pretty obvious?”
Yikes! “Yes, but—and that's an actual but—I'm not so comfortable having Jon Jr. and Fashallana,” I meshed my fingers together, “you know, doing the actual groundwork.”
“You are so thick! They wouldn't,” she meshed her fingers together too, “be laying any groundwork. That's gross! Shame on you! Plus, it wouldn't work if they did. They're too closely related, the inbreeding would knock the wheels off that bus sooner or later.”
Whoo! “Great, I'm glad we agree on that. So, how exactly does your vision…roll out?”
“I've given this some thought. My plan is as foolproof as it is simple.” This I had to hear. “We check the kids' DNA to determine if they have the same father. It's possible they don't. In any case, I will have several more children and make them all girls. I can have the doctors flush out my sperm-sack and transfer a portion to each female. There are several gene lines represented there.”
I reflexively raised a finger. “Just how many gene lines are we talking here, hon?”
At least she was able to provide me with a concise, clear, and unambiguous answer. She slapped my face with convincing conviction. “As I was saying! The girls will be able to produce genetically diverse offspring. Over time, there would, naturally, be some return to more traditional methods of population maintenance.”
“You mean…” I meshed my fingers together.
“Yes, at some point in the midterm future. But, don't you see? In a handful of generations, we could establish a healthy, sustainable, and free population of my species!”
Al cut in without being asked. “In five generations, a population of twenty-thousand is easily achievable. From there, the numbers would expand exponentially. Two more generations would put the population in the range of one-million. Assuming ten years between generations, a reasonable figure given Kaljaxian physiology and proclivity to task, that figure could be accomplished in approximately seventy-five years.”
Sapale finished his train-of-thought. “That's less than a quarter of the time it would take the mass of humans to arrive. By the time they did, there'd be a flourishing society in place.”
I had to ask a bit dubiously, “To what, help them settle in?”
She caught my concern. “Yes.”
“Or to ask them to move on down the road because GB 3 was already spoken for?”
With profound empathy, she said, “That's where you come in, brood-mate. You'd be there the whole time to make sure that didn't happen.” She had a point. I could be a constant moral compass for the burgeoning civilization. I couldn't, there and then, think of a better way to spend that portion of eternity.
“You know, I think we have ourselves a plan.” For that, I got a kiss. Well, a kiss and a tad more, but recall please, I am—above all—a gentleman.
TWENTY-SIX
Well, I lost twenty bucks. The decision to make GB 3 humanity's collective target took only two and a half months. I need to stop being so fundamentally negative. Maybe. That was fine and good. All the worldships assumed a heading in that direction. As velocities would differ from ship to ship, the fleet spread out, but they committed to traveling in pods. A pod was fifty or so craft all committed to staying close enough together to assure mutual aid, should it become necessary. Also, in the event of Listhelon attack, the pod’s defenses would be superior.
My dim view of politicians was reinforced, however, when it came to choosing a name for GB 3. That took twelve years. Yeah. New Earth? No, the name looked to the past, not the future. Huh? Whatever. Sanctuary? No, it implied we were needy. Double-huh? We were. We really, really needed a new home. Whatever. Nova, Latin for new? No, Latin-based languages were not to be championed over other languages. Oh my. I didn't bother telling anyone that by the time they got there, the place would have a name in Hirn, Sapale's native dialect.
The first person I shared our intentions with was Toño. I trusted him and valued his take on how we should proceed. He was, against all odds, becoming quite expert in the dark art of politics.
“So,” he said, rubbing his chin, “you would leave us and strike out on your own? I don't see why not. In fact, good for you!” He snapped his fingers. “I'm coming with you!”
“What?” I couldn't stop that from slipping out.
A rebuffed Toño asked, “What, you don't want me along?”
“No, no,” I backpedaled, “we'd love to have you. I just figured you were sort of committed, you know, to stay here. You are the scientific director of the UN, after all.”
He set his jaw firmly. “I was. There are no nations left. Just a bunch of asteroids. Let them find their own director. I've more than paid my dues, thank you very much. Over paid them, in fact.” Yes, he had. Many times over.
I held my hand over to him. “Welcome aboard! I could stand some male company, for once.” After we chuckled, I did have to add, “We will be a wee bit crowded, if you don't mind. Ark 1 was designed, as you well know, for only one passenger.”
“Oh, but we shall not be taking that old ship. I'm already working on a new one. Bigger, faster, and much cooler looking.”
“How much cooler? Don't forget, you're a science nerd.” I tented my right hand on my chest, “I, however, am a fighter pilot. I'm the final authority on cool things that fly.”
“Here. See for yourself.” He reached into a lab coat, produced a crumpled piece of paper, and handed it to me. It was a drawing of a ship. Man! Was it ever cool looking.
“Doc, that's the most bitchin' ship I've ever seen! When'll she be ready?”
“In about six months. She's partially assembled down in the engineering department, if you'd like to have a peek.”
“Is it okay if we run?”
As I entered the hangar, I was even more impressed. The ship was huge, at least compared to mine. Her metal skeleton was nearly complete. She was shaped somewhat like a spearhead, only thicker toward the stern and flatter in general. Gone was the long needle nose needed to minimize damage from space debris. No doubt, he'd designed membranes to perform that function. I estimated she was at least five times larger than Ark 1. That was good. Sapale was already pregnant with another set of twins. She told me that, if she could, she'd like to have ten to twelve children total. We'd need the room. Lord in Heaven, it hit me then. I'd be in a spaceship with a dozen teenage daughters and nowhere to run. Maybe Toño could design in a really secure man cave?
“Impressive, eh?”
“You can say that again! Doc, she's beautiful.”
“She's the first in the new class of scout ships. They'll gradually replace the Ark Series. Explorations are likely to take longer in the future, so we wanted a ship that could carry live humans if need be. When the time comes, I'll tell them truthfully that you and I are going exploring. Naturally, Sapale, the kids, and Ffffuttoe would come with us. They're family. No one will question us in the slightest.” He looked at the ship like it was the first time he'd ever seen her, excitement dancing in his eyes. “It will be grand, my friend. We shall have a great adventure!”
“Trust me on this one, Toño,” I set my hand on his sleeve, “you shouldn't ask for a great adventure. Those are the ones that just might get you killed. But, one more question,” I said.
“Yes?”
“What's the purpose of having the hull be so highly polished? Does it help repel cosmic rays or something?”
“No, my good man. It makes her look that much cooler.”
I returned to our apartment on the worldship and told Sapale about Toño's plan and about the new ship. She was dubious at first. She didn't actually say it, but I think she was concerned about breaking up our current, tight-knit group. But she came around, sooner than later, and actually became quite excited. She really liked the idea of having lots of
room. Woman that she was, she immediately began to talk of interior design, decor, and room appointments. I hope Doc was ready for some womanly touch, because he was going to get a lot of it.
Toño and I presented our case for taking the new Lambda class ship to GB 3—still no name, six months later—to perform more detailed analysis. We would also start planning where cities might be best located, for when the worldships started to arrive. After little debate or discussion, our project was given the green light. We'd be leaving in two to three months, depending on how construction proceeded.
As everything was falling into place, I had to make one matter clear to Toño. Al would have to be transferred to the new ship. It was one of my must-haves for the ship. That's when he brought up something troubling. Having Al reassigned would not be a problem, he reassured me. There was to be, however, a second AI onboard. Neither AI would be the top dog, but rather, they were to work in concert as well as provide backup for each other. I asked him if he'd spent much time working with Al since our return. Doc said he had. I asked him if he thought Al would play well with another AI. He said he didn't see why not. That's when I asked him again if he'd spent much time working with Al since our return. Doc just looked at me, kind of confused. I let it pass. I just extracted the promise for Toño that he'd be the one to tell Al about the other AI, not me. Even more puzzled, he agreed. Man was he in for it.
As we neared our time of departure, now-Governor Kahl called a meeting of her advisors, which included Toño and me. I figured it was to make arrangements for Toño's replacement and to wish us luck. Unfortunately, there was more.
“We've naturally,” Mary began, “been in close contact with all the worldships since we set sail for GB 3. Everyone reports good mechanical function and the absence of societal issues.” That was a rather standard opening remark at such gatherings. Until otherwise challenged, Mary was assumed to be the overall leader of the Earth's refugees. Accordingly, she made it her business to watch over her flock very closely. “I wanted to discuss a few, I don't know, troubling communications we've had with some ships.”
“How so?” someone asked. “What sort of trouble?”
“Not really trouble, I guess. It's more pushback. Yes, that's it: pushback.”
“I hate to be the one to say it, but pushback from some of ten thousand petty fiefdoms is pretty easy to anticipate,” I said.
“To be certain,” Mary agreed. “Maybe it's just that this is the first that makes me so sensitive.”
“Growing pains were expected at some point,” Toño added.
“Yes,” she replied.
“What exactly was the pushback?” her chief assistant asked.
“Oh, nothing big. We have, as you all know, strict guidelines for food allocations and rations. Everyone receives highly nutritious meals. But proteins are managed closely. Soy or egg are the baseline protein sources. Fish is available twice per week and chicken twice per month. Red meat is at such a premium, we only provide it three times per year.”
“And?” her assistant pressed.
“Lately, some of the ships are asking for increased allotments of chicken, but especially red meat.”
“If they want to waste their resources on red meat production, let them do it. When they fall on their faces, it will, perhaps, teach them a valuable lesson,” Toño said.
“That's just it. They want to obtain either meat or grains to produce meat from other ships. The farm ships, in particular.” There were five worldships with very few inhabitants and massive food production facilities. Each ship was designed to be fully autonomous, but such ships allowed for flexibility and some small luxuries, like red meat.
“That's out of the question!” said Andreas Nikolaidis, our Secretary of Human Nutrition. “Everyone was told the ground rules and everyone will live by them equally. Period!” Nick was nothing if not a passionate man.
“There’s a twist,” Mary added. “They're requesting it as a medical necessity, not out of dietary preference.”
“What?” hissed Nick. “That's preposterous! No one needs red meat to stay alive. Even the tigers we feed soy meal for the most part. Again, I say no!”
“Still, if it's a medical request…” Mary trailed off.
“How much of a gift are they asking for?” I asked.
She fingered her chin. “Not that much, at least for now. A five percent increase over their allotment.”
“I think it would be best if I spoke to some of these doctors who are prescribing red meat to their patients.” Nick was hot.
“No,” soothed Mary, “but I will ask our medical board to do just that. If they smell a rat, we can turn you loose on them as punishment.” That brought giggles from everyone but Nick. He puffed up and pouted.
“Which ships?” I wondered out loud.
“A few of the American ones. Most American worldships aren't asking, but all of the requests did come from their vessels.”
“Big surprise there!” huffed Nick. “Probably want to eat too many cheeseburgers like they did back on Earth.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The time couldn't pass fast enough for the new scout ship to be ready. I was anxious to be doing something again. Sitting on a slow-moving rock waiting for everyone around me to wither and die wasn't my idea of fun. GB 3 was about sixteen light-years away. With the new ship, we could probably be there in twenty years, not the worldship's four hundred. In fact, they were so slow that the time dilation effect from moving near the speed of light wouldn't matter. No, our twenty years would be thirty-some years for them, but compared to four hundred, it didn't matter.
As our launch date neared, the pressure on me mounted. Toño said I would select the ship's name. He even playfully warned Sapale not to try and influence my decision. He said she was going to name a whole planet, so she should leave the name of the tiny ship to me. Recall that with Ark 1, I wanted to name her Pequod or USS Enterprise. Now that I could, those sounded childish. I could've just named her Sapale, but that was too obvious. Plus, I didn't know that I wanted that strong a reminder of her in a couple hundred years. I dawned on me that I might have to give the ship a grown-up name. Wow, had I ever changed. I was going to age like Peter Pan, and I fully intended to act like a kid forever. The name thing threatened my self-image.
I decided on a preliminary name, but told no one and reserved the right to change it when I found another. Shearwater. Now, don't gasp or anything. It's a type of medium-sized seabird that wanders vast distances over the world's oceans. Well, it did. It doesn't anymore. I thought it was a very cool name. An albatross was too big a name for our medium-sized spaceship. Plus, albatross had too much baggage. The bird was bad luck to kill, and I didn't want the words “bad” and “luck” anywhere near my ship. Also, a famous one sank years ago. Apparently it was a particularly sad event. No, Shearwater was cool. Albatross was way too risky. Plus, shearwater. Think about it. Kinda brings to mind a tough dude like me with a knife—maybe a switchblade—shearing stuff. I believed I had my ship's name.
In the weeks before we shoved off, we all moved to our ship's quarters. Sapale and I had a suite. Several rooms joined, much like a large apartment. Ffffuttoe had one of those rooms to herself. I didn't even offer her a space of her own for personal privacy. She was so devoted to the children; I couldn't imagine she'd want to be separated from the oncoming avalanche of kids. I wasn't actually sure how long the Toe lived. I asked her a few times, but she always answered, “until they die.” But until she passed, she was indispensable for us.
Sapale beamed with more and more joy as our departure approached. It wasn't just because she wanted to start her epic project. No, she was dying to move into our quarters, which she seemed, more often than not, to refer to as her quarters. Most of all, believe it or not, she wanted to use her tub. She'd designed a tub to “give the children a proper scrubbing” whenever they needed it. I had an intimation that'd be more often than they might appreciate. But, with so many new additions planned, she insis
ted that good hygiene was critical. You know, whenever she said that to me, I got the funniest feeling. Like she planned on scrubbing me periodically too.
Toño had a tiny room attached to a spacious lab. He loved it. Every detail was specified by him personally. He worked endlessly, had no hobbies or vices, and never slept. He'd discovered, like I had, that dreamless sleep was piss-ass poor sleep and a waste of time.
One aspect of the long voyage began to trouble me. Toño had his space and would be sequestered there a lot. Sapale would soon have a gaggle of geese to manage, so she'd be unavailable for chitchat. That left me the odd man out with only Al and the new AI. I'd be in charge of what were certain to be Al's endless complaints, rejections, and rails against his new playmate. That seemed real bleak, really more of a sentence than an adventure. Hey, maybe they'd get along so well, both AIs would leave me alone. Yeah. Must remember to pack lots of alcohol for my period of confinement. A still! Perfect. A big still. I'd put a tech on it right away.
True to his word, Toño told Al about the new AI before he installed it. Afterward, he came by my study. “I've just finished installing the new AI.”
“No you didn't,” I said flatly.
“Pardon?”
“You look too good. After you switch the new one on, Al would browbeat you to within an inch of your life.” I turned back to my computer screen. “You look fine.”
“Seriously, I think you're wrong on this matter. He'll do well. Jon, he’s a machine. You know this, right?”
“I'll just stay put right here on I-Told-You-So Island and wait for you to swim over to me with your tail between your legs.”
He left in a mild huff. He had piqued my curiosity though. I invented a reason to go the bridge, so I could gauge Al's mood. I fiddled around with a still-exposed servo, pretending to adjust it or something. “Hey, Al,” I called out, “run a test on this circuit. It looks loose to me.” Nothing. “Al, the ship's AI, please run a diagnostic on this mechanism.” Nada. I took a deep breath. “Alvin, report in!”
The Forever Enemy (The Forever Series Book 2) Page 12