The Hasten the Day Trilogy
Page 79
First Citizen McNabb often sat a bit apart from his security at the Martyr’s Park bench by the fountain, to savor the illusion of anonymity. He could watch the clusters of Celtic red-heads and blonde Nords and round-faced Slavs maneuvering around one another like schools of differently colored tropical fish, with smaller pods of darker Med and Alp subethnics darting in and out. Government run schools weren’t ethnically segregated, yet, but the academic courses were customized to suit the different inherited personality types and proclivities of the subraces.
This morning, he had explained the diversification process to his son, G.W., again. The nine year old had ran in, winded from climbing a tree with the other boys who all felt like superheroes in the lunar colony’s low gravity, to ask why his friend Jimmy’s big sister had to “marry a boy who looked like her.”
T.J. had laughed. “Well, son, you’ve studied natural selection in Biology class, right?” “Um, Yes, Sir. Kinda.” George Washington McNabb said, hesitantly.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to test you, buddy,” his dad reassured him, cutting up an apple and handing it to the boy, one slice at a time.
“Don’t choke on that. Okay, here goes. All species differentiate, they specialize, within themselves, as different bloodlines within the bigger overall group develop different inherited traits, right? Like the pigeons, some became gray and could hide in the smog and survive, while the white ones got seen by the hawks and eaten?”
“I remember,” G.W. said, munching away.
“And, remember that some of those specializations are the result of climactic or other environmental adaptations, and some are accidental, and some are on purpose? The ones on purpose, we call ‘eugenics’?”
“Like the Trolls?” the youngster asked, wide-eyed. He had forgotten his apple slices for a moment.
“Yes, like the Trolls. So, the way that natural selection works is that the different subgroups, or sub-species, within a species, all compete for territory and resources, to see which of them is the best adapted, the most fit, and has the best physical and mental traits needed to survive, right?”
“That’s what our teacher said. She says that’s why she has blue eyes,” the boy contributed. Finally, the last wedge disappeared.
“Well, she’s right. And the best suited, most favored, subspecies wins the natural selection contest. And what happens to the other subspecies, the other races, son? Remember?
“They go extinct. Like dark-skinned people,” G.W. answered. “So, that’s natural?”
“Sure, it’s natural. You see, multiracialism, having more than one race mix together and especially to interbreed, well, that destroys the true diversity, the real genetic and inherited differences between different population groups, that nature requires for the natural selection process to continue. See?”
“Just like I made my apple gone? It’s extinct!” the royal heir asked.
“Kind of, but even worse, because instead of just being gone, what’s left is neither the same subspecies or race as the mother or the father. And all of the tens of thousands of years, or even longer, of adapting and evolving and adding recessive genes, is gone, buried in the more primitive, less evolved dominant genes, reverted back to the base form. All the hard work and sacrifices of all their generations of ancestors is lost, undone. Do you remember what ‘recessive’ means?” the man asked.
“It means newer, more recent, more advanced, right? Like the sharp edge of the knife you used to cut the apple, dad?”
“Very good. And if that edge is lost, if the most recent, most advanced, recessive genes are buried by mixing them back with the dominant, less advanced, less recent forms, like mixing recessive blue eyes with dominant brown eyes, …well, it’s a step backward for the human species.”
“Hot pipe! I get it. So, why does she have to marry a boy who looks like her?” G.W. queried, trying to see the whole picture.
His dad smiled, ruffling his son’s hair. “Because, once all of the subspecies, or races, except for one have become extinct, the one surviving race becomes the new de facto species, son. Then the whole process of differentiation and specialization and competition between groups as a part of the ongoing natural selection process continues. The different ethnicities within that race become the new de facto races within the new de facto species. Like that knife edge, it’s a continual honing process, to keep us, humanity, constantly improving sharpening, evolving into something greater, and better. That’s God’s design. His will is for us to constantly improve ourselves as individuals and ourselves collectively as His children, through the process He created.”
“So, God wants them to get married?” the fifth grader wondered.
“You could say that. By marrying and having babies with people who are like us genetically, our own race and even our own ethnicity, we help to re-sort out the new species, and establish different races within the new species, who will compete with each other to see which is most fit. It just keeps going, forever, it has to, or we fall backwards.” came the patient response.
“Oh,” a light bulb came on. “So, what about the Trolls and Gills and the others? Are they new races, too?”
“Yes, they are, and they’re almost new species, already. Genetically, they’ve been modified so far away from the base, that they almost aren’t genetically compatible with Organics like you and me any more. Kind of like donkeys and horses make mules that are sterile, right?”
“That’s good.” the boy said, thoughtfully, wrinkling up his nose. “I’ve seen pictures of Troll girls, they’re uuuuuuuugggggggglllllllllyyyyyyyyyy!”
“Probably they wouldn’t be if you were a Troll boy, though,” T.J. noted, grinning. His son made an exaggerated gagging noise.
“So, do they hafta?” the interrogation boiled down to. The father emphatically shook his head.
“No, son, nobody has to follow the reproductive laws. Or God’s laws, even. There are tax write-offs for those who do, and family subsidies if you fit certain genetic criteria…certain standards. But anyone who doesn’t want to live by our laws, can leave. They can take off with whomever they want, even, together, if they both decide to.”
“Where do people like that go, daddy?” his son’s pale eyebrows rose, imagining outlaws running off, hand in hand.
“Well, down in the Republic of Texas, people just have kids with whatever featherless biped they want to, willy-nilly. Even in Deseret, they generally marry anybody their church approves of. Usually more than one, at that. So, they’re welcome there, too, if they convert.”
“What about on the other colonies? Do they follow birthing laws?”, G.W. asked. He looked up, past the lunar dome, towards the stars.
“Of course ours do, but like in Texas and Argentina and Deseret, most of the orbital platforms and new worlds don’t. At least not yet. A couple of them even allow homosexuals to marry.”
“I guess that means that our way of doing things is competing with theirs, too, to see which is best, huh, dad?”
“Right. And we’ll let God decide which way is truly His will, son. That’s all we can do, is leave it in His hands.”
That gave his son something to think about while he ran back outside to climb up into that moon tree again and explain things to his friend.
It was difficult for anyone, of any age, to come to grips with the understanding that at long last, a portion of humanity had control over its own destiny, and held its own future. Even for the Speaker. Finally, there was a rope over the abyss, and only eyes such as his could see what awaited on the other side. Man was something which was being overcome. While science had handed him the power to manipulate the intelligence levels and personality types and physical attributes of the next generation, he would not. The responsibility of the higher man was to sort them out, and let God and His nature judge. About the Author
Billy Roper is a former high school and junior high History, Civics, Economics, and Geography teacher. He has been a candidate for public office, and a lifel
ong political activist, leader, and spokesman. Mr. Roper has a Bachelor's degree in History and Political Science and a Master of Liberal Arts degree in History with a specialty in Anthropology. He currently resides with his wife, two stepsons, her cats, and his dog in what will become New America. Mr. Roper may be reached through e-mail at roper_billy@yahoo.com.
Also by this author:
'The Fifth Horseman'
'The Balk: What does it mean, and what will it mean to America's future?'
'Look Away: an alternate history of the Civil War'
'The Ice Path: A Way Forward'
'Glome's Saga'
'PaleoAmerican Ethnic Diversity'
'Hasten The Day: The First Year Of The Balkanization Of America'
'Waiting For The Sun: Hasten The Day, Part II'
'Wasting The Dawn: Hasten The Day, Part III'
Table of Contents
“Hasten The Day” The First Year Of The Balkanization of America By: Billy Roper
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Waiting For The Sun: Hasten The Day, Part II The Fifth Year After the Breakup of the United States By Billy Roper
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen:
‘Wasting The Dawn’ Hasten The Day, Part III By Billy Roper
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven