“But it isn't programming in the strict sense, Brand."
“Like hell it isn't. We're like so many shagrats responding to our sense of smell. Now, you tell me the Fathers want us to disclose that information to the people. Why? Why take whatever independence the people think they have and throw it in the Nurab Deep?"
“Look, Brand, even without the engineering and selective breeding, we operate to a large extent on programming dating back to prehistory on Earth. That's just a fact of life."
“Mm-hmm, that may be true, but it has an element of randomness to it."
“But with randomness comes even greater uncertainty. They knew before they launched the colonizing ships that we would likely be faced with conditions very different from those of Earth, maybe life-threatening, wherever we wound up. All the Fathers did was take into account the conditions on Paz, then alter some of the genetic codes to give us a better chance of surviving here.” Niki checked the clock, then continued. “Remember, Brand, we are better for it and no one took anything away—they only gave to us. It's time to reassemble. We'll be going into this in some depth a little later."
Niki stood and crossed to the door of the cafeteria. Tapping the side of his cup for attention, he said, “We're going back now. First hour of this session will be open to questions on the previous material. After that, we will discuss my mission, your mission, and how the genetic work of the Fathers relates to both."
* * * *
A thousand portable shelters lined the fog-shrouded, rolling hills that formed the Skolnick Height south of New London, and in the valley below stood a low, rambling building, the remnant of a small communal shelter once used by the people who had inhabited the area a hundred years before. Tazh had selected the site as an emergency staging area, a gathering point for just such cases as the debacle at the Keep.
He sat quietly, chewing a stick of tarsac into pulp, while a lieutenant read off the statistics. Of the forty-three hundred who had fled the Keep, slightly more than three thousand had found their way to the Mew, as Tazh liked to call it. Six of his AAVs had also come to the Mew, the other five had run for the Pel's Field station and Lang's protection. A further six hundred more men who had stayed loyal to Tazh were sitting somewhere in the Vaskez with five of his best attack rovers.
To his pleasure, he remained a force to be reckoned with, a force, he vowed, that would be felt. Running his fingers lightly along the ridges of thick, hard scabs forming over the right side of his badly burned face, he thought about his next move. He had enough resources to seize control of Pel's Field. There he could recruit a substantially larger force, allowing him the flexibility he needed to split into three attack groups. One would take the Nuperz station, another would go to the North Coopersland training area to rally those currently in cold weather training, and the third would be under his direct command, although he needed more information before he could decide what to do with it.
“Lieutenant, where's Lang and what's he up to?"
“We don't know, sir."
“Find out."
“Yes, sir."
“How many field agents do we have out?"
“To the best of my knowledge, twenty-five."
“Contact them—I want that untrac coward on my dinner table—just his head will do."
Tazh spit the wad of mangled tarsac to the floor and went to one of the window slits in the wall. He could see nothing but the swirling gray-white of ice fog as it spread the light of Vegamwun evenly in all directions. Fitting the soft light shield of the SED over his eyes, he winced with the pain it caused him and looked out over the clearing where his AAVs hugged the frost covered ground, their edges lined with sharp daggers of ice. Halfyear was about to happen and the voices deep within him screamed out their insistence. He had to act ... soon.
* * * *
“On your monitors is displayed a list of the Ancients. You will notice there are twenty-four seed lots from Alpha to Omega. Of the seed lots only twenty-three consisted of twenty-four lot numbers, each lot number being made up of a series of twenty designators. The designators of each number were made up of three digit codes, none of which were consecutive, and no designator in any seed lot matches any other designator in any of the other seed lots. One seed lot is represented by only one seed lot number and one designator. That seed lot was Delta three dash two-eight-one. My Ancient. The reasoning behind that will be provided, later.
“I'm not a geneticist, so I won't presume to know the esoteric significance of this, but I do understand the mathematics. The number of possible combinations is astronomical but, according to the Book of the Law, our mating has been controlled by those codes in a way that severely restricted the number of combinations. Why? Because the Fathers had a plan requiring specific codes be carried through to this time without being significantly altered or being affected by the passage of subsequent generations.
“No one has ever questioned why the first twelve codes of the Gammas were free to pair with only the first four seed lot numbers of the Alpha, Epsilon, and Omicron groups, while all others were free to mate with eight specified seed lots without regard to code. The Delta seed lot, by the way, was restricted to pairing only with Sigma and Omega one codes. The obvious conclusion is that there was a specific genetic map being followed that had been designed to lead us to a particular destination. Some of us have been living with a genetic bomb that was set to go off in the twelfth generation, and the bomb has exploded—the marked destination on the map has been reached.
“To prepare you for what is about to come up on your screens, I must tell you that we are very different from the Fathers—dramatically different."
Niki reached for the pad and keyed up the biological information on the Fathers and a unanimous gasp issued from the group, followed by comments like, ‘disgusting,’ and ‘horrible.'
“You are looking at pictures of the Fathers, pictures never before seen. Take your time and, please, try to remember they came from a place where living conditions were different from those of Paz—which is what shaped them.
“As you can see, they were tall, lacking body hair, which gave them that smooth, sickly appearance, and they were terribly fragile by our standards. Thin bone structure, meaning that broken bones were probably common for them. The man pictured here couldn't lift more than seventy-five kilos, while the average Pazian can handle a hundred and thirty without difficulty. The Ancient Record tells us that man stood an average one hundred and eighty-five centimeters, fully thirty centimeters taller than any Pazian I know. He lacks the brow ridge to protect his eyes, so it is safe to assume that eye injuries were easily inflicted on him, and their his ears were permanently extended—no protective flap. It's easy to see that the Fathers were not well suited for life on Paz.
“But we are, and we owe that to them and their engineering. The only reason there is any human life on Paz today is because of the gifts the Fathers bestowed upon us, along with the sacrifice they made in staying here to make certain we survived our first few Days of Disturbance and times of Minor Tides. It must have been utter torture for them, yet they stayed to raise our Ancients and guide them through the terrible conditions they discovered here. Had they not been able to do these things, their mission would have failed and none of us would be here now.
“None of the technology they employed is foreign to us. For years, Biotech has been involved in modifying—or attempting to modify—the indigenous life on Paz, and their work is the reason why the shako now provides forty percent more meat than its predecessors. Rather than being disturbed by the appearance of our creators, we need to come up with another way to define what is human. We are human—we all accept that as fact—and so, even with all their differences, they were the Fathers. We are all onners of a grand plan that is unfolding before us now. Part of that plan is for Paz and the other part is aimed at another star, another Paz somewhere in the galaxy, and at an Earth that once was."
Niki paused to give the group an opportunity
to absorb the more detailed information and to gain, he hoped, an understanding of the meaning behind it.
“Mr. Kaznov, this sort of sweeping revelation will have serious psychological repercussions in the general populace,” Marcos Sheel, Director of PsychMed, said. “I strongly oppose releasing this information for general consumption and—"
“Why?"
“Well ... the idea that I have been living according to some sort of program embedded in my genetic structure is ... is hard to digest—particularly to the degree you seem to be suggesting here."
“All right, but you need to understand that you weren't programmed to do certain things at the cost of all others. What's your seed lot number, Dr. Sheel."
“Omega twelve."
“You may have had leanings programmed into your group—special talents and curiosities running in specific directions—all latent in nature. You were not designed to be a doctor and could just as easily been a physicist, a mechanic, or an astronomer. You chose to be what you are. Frankly, considering your background and recorded accomplishments, I'm a little surprised you think that way."
“I have enough education to know how much control genes can have, Mr. Kaznov."
“Then you also know there is a large difference between theory and practice. As I said, there may be predispositions in you, but you weren't manipulated to the point that your free will was overridden. It is only the first twelve of the Gamma lots and myself who have had little choice in what we have done and are doing."
“So, Mr. Kaznov, how much free will do you have, hmm?"
“Enough, for example, to decide not to carry out my instructions. The work of the Fathers was powerful, of that there is little doubt, but not perfect. Few of the Gammas I mentioned have had their programming take hold and are living in a hell of partial connection. Most are merely disturbed by confusing fragments of memories and instructions. You may have come across some of them in your practice, Dr. Sheel."
“Probably."
“Are there any Gammas here with the seed lot numbers I mentioned?” Niki asked of the group.
To Niki's surprise, six hands went up. Frank, Vagnu, and Antaris, of course, but three others were there, too—Hana Laski, Shanah Andromodi, and Jamal Fein all sat quietly behind their monitors with their hands in the air.
“Have any of you been troubled by strange, too realistic dreams and things that appeared to be memories out of place?"
Immediately the hands of Fein and Andromodi went up followed, hesitantly, by Laski's.
“Then, I suppose, it's time to get on with the why of all this, so our Gammas here can find a little solace through understanding. We can be sure there are many more going through what you three are experiencing, and for some it is much worse."
Niki loaded another chip and prepared to present the most important information of the entire session—originally intended to be directed at Frank and Vagnu, but he had three unexpected additions now.
“We all know the story of how we got here and, for the most part, it's true. Nine hundred and five years is the time it took to cross the chasm between Earth and Paz, almost four times our history here. Imagine."
He advanced through the chip to the landing data, and wrestled with his uncertainty before letting it come up on the other screens. Then he keyed it up.
“This is what we were when we landed here—simple embryonic organisms. We were called seed biologicals. After analyzing the conditions here the Fathers set about the work of modifying these seed biologicals to physically cope with life on this new world. Heavier bones, brow ridges, secondary eyelids, shorter stature, full cover body hair, and so on. In short, they created us to be as we are. But there is more. We are all taught how the Fathers left a dying planet to find another world on which they could save their species. But we weren't taught that the La Paz was not the only such ship—there were thirteen more sent out to other target stars, and each of these ships was programmed to travel to additional targets, because the Fathers wanted to seed as many planets as possible to ensure the continued existence of their species.
“The finding of Paz was a stroke of exceptionally good luck, because Vegamwun was the first target star for the La Paz. The stars were chosen on the basis of their spectral type and evidence of planetary systems. Some of the planetary systems were known, and others were implied based upon subtle movements observed in the star. Vegamwun was one of the latter and their guess proved correct.
“I'll not burden you with my narration of the story—it's all contained in the copy of the Ancient Record you will be given, and you may read it at your leisure. Let's move on to how the first twelve sets of Gamma seed lots and myself figure in. It is quite simple. We have been given most of the information we need to continue what the Fathers began, and whatever we lack will be provided by the onboard computers of the La Paz. Should those of us who go be fortunate enough to find another habitable planet, we will become the Fathers of another people—we will do for them as our Fathers did for us."
* * *
Chapter XXVI
The line separating a brilliantly planned, flawlessly executed stratagem and blind luck is so fine that it is invisible to the participants. Fortunately, that line is almost always drawn by some quodlibetic historian in the distant future, who looks back on our feats and decides for everyone of his time whether we were very smart or just damned lucky.
Whichever it would be in the future, Niki awoke staring at the ceiling of compartment 8-C with Pasha sitting beside him on the berth. It felt to him as though someone were wandering around in his head, indiscriminately banging away with a large hammer at whatever looked the most sensitive—and the cabin lights, though dimmed, stabbed into his eyes and hurt all the way to the soles of his feet.
“It worked?” He tried to sit up, but the pain of the effort pushed him back to the security of the soft pillow. “Was there any problem? Do we have them all?"
“Every one of them, love. Luto had a little trouble getting their transports going without starting their transponders, but he managed. “Harko,” she began with a laugh, “has been conscious for an hour, and that man knows language I've never heard. I can't repeat what he said he would do when he got his hands on you—it wasn't pretty, believe me."
Pasha took on a loving look and, stroking his forehead with a cool, smooth palm, she said, “How do you feel, love? Is there anything I can get for you?"
“Uh-huh, a Ceto-cap for my head and a liter of cold water. You would think that they would have come up with a more humane gas by now."
“I'm glad I wasn't in on it."
“With good reason—ouch.” Niki struggled against the desire to remain still and wrestled himself into a semi-upright position. “What about the three new ones, how are they taking it?"
“They're not conscious, yet. Have you decided what you're going to do with them?"
“I'm going to have to lie to Frank and Vagnu, so I can get them to deliver the message to their people. I know we can trust them to return—neither one of them wants to hang. When we leave we'll turn them over to Harko."
He laid the Ceto-cap on his tongue, grimaced at its sharp bitterness, then forced it down with half a liter of water.
“Awful,” he said, shuddering. “The other three we'll have to check against the list, and if they're qualified we'll offer them the choice of going or not."
Niki tried his legs, thought better of it, and sat back down.
“How many have already backed out—over a hundred and fifty at last count, wasn't it? Can't say I blame them, either. A one-way ticket to ride a thousand year old ship to an unknown destination—and we don't even know if the La Paz is still in proper working order. You know, every day I find myself wishing I was back on my boat—life was a simple thing ... then."
He shrugged and leaned back against the cushioned bulkhead. Twenty-three had said the La Paz was in good condition, all systems working well. But how much faith could one put into a computer system of equal age? Th
e entire endeavor came with a very high probability of failure. Even assuming the La Paz functioned perfectly, they could just as easily be sentenced to a cold, silent grave and an endless drift through empty, dark space if there was nothing found at the end of the voyage.
“If I didn't want to go ... would you ... stay here with me, love?"
“What?"
“Hypothetically, that is."
“Don't you want to go?"
“That's not what I said."
“Well, if I couldn't convince you to change your mind, then I would stay."
“You mean that?"
“Hypothetically."
“Nikisha Kaznov."
“All right. Yes, I'd stay. Satisfied?"
The compartment rang with her melodious laughter, and Niki's head pounded. She reached out and, pressing his cheeks firmly between her hands, kissed him hard—with passion and warmth.
“Then we're going. We're going to find another world in some faraway place. Who knows where that might be? Whatever shall we call it? How about KazDar, for the intrepid explorers who led the expedition and discovered it?"
He was sure he'd never understand women and was grateful to Antaris for tapping on their door at that instant.
“Enter ... at your own peril,” he said.
The door opened slowly, and Antaris took a tentative peek around the edge. “What peril, Nikisha?” she asked.
“Exposure. Pasha's exhibiting strange behavior."
“Well, I am happy to hear she is feeling normal. I just wanted to tell you—you look terrible, Nikisha—that all our guests are now awake."
“Oh, thank you for your kind observation, Trina. How are they?"
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