Twin-Bred

by Karen A. Wyle

  Testing took place in a temporary structure on Project grounds, built and furnished by Tofa workers under Project staff supervision. The Tofa appeared to be testing for various scientific and technical abilities.

  Project staff devised comparable tests to administer to the human twin subjects after the Tofa tests were concluded and the Tofa personnel made their final departure. The test results for Tofa and human twin subjects were within the same general range. . . .

  “So the Tofa want to know if Tofa Twin-Bred would make good scientists. Scientists and engineers. Is that what they’ve hoped to gain from all this? There’s little doubt that we have the more advanced technology. Are they looking for a boost?”

  “That would be rational. If their thought processes are too different from ours for them to just copy what they see, they may be looking for technical translators. Have the politicos figured this out yet?”

  “The idea is percolating through the governmental

  machinery — ”

  “Watch your metaphors, sis.”

  “Then don’t make me talk shop before I’ve had my coffee. You may get some whole elaborate caffeinated-beverage conceit. Except I couldn’t come up with it without coffee. Where was I?”

  “You were going to tell me whether the Project was in danger of being shut down by politicians intent on maintaining technological superiority.”

  “The short answer is, not now. Through psychology, persuasion, and just a bit of blackmail, I think I’ve preserved the status quo — with some additional security, and the promise that we won’t be releasing any new-and-improved Tofa into the wild just yet.”

  “Mara, you’re talking about dozens of adolescents. They will be getting more curious, more restless, more rebellious. The Tofa Twin-Bred will be increasingly aware of their isolation from their own kind. Their human twins will be sympathetic, and will view any attempt to overcome restrictions as exciting and romantic.”

  “I know, I know, and we’ll just have to face those problems as they come. Along with whatever other problems turn up. . . .”

  Joey paced back and forth across the back yard, scowling and muttering. When he progressed to kicking the lawn furniture, his mother Sarah planted herself in his path, folded her arms and waited.

  “You’ve been upset for weeks. I know you’re getting older, and you need your privacy, but I think you need to talk to someone. I’m not used to offering — you always talk to your brother, and that’s what I expect, I understand that. But is there something that you can’t talk to him about?”

  Joey twisted back and forth, grabbed his hair and let go; hands in fists, he punched his thighs.

  “I don’t understand it! I don’t know what’s happening! I keep feeling so strange! I’ll be walking around and watching people, and suddenly I feel — I don’t know what! I don’t like it! I don’t like not understanding! How can I not understand myself!”

  Time to confirm her hunch. "You say you'd be watching people. What people?"

  Joey pondered for a moment. "Uh . . . Cindy. And Anna. I forget who else."

  Sarah gingerly reached out, waited for signs of refusal, then pulled him into a gentle hug. “Honey, I think I know what’s going on. You’re growing up. You’re a young man, and you’re noticing girls the way a young man does.”

  Joey stared. “You mean — am I getting ready to reproduce?” Now he stood very still. “But why would I have all these feelings? Are they — are they like side effects? What are they for?”

  Sarah felt herself blush. She wondered whether Joey knew what blushing meant. She wondered more whether Phillip could handle this discussion if she punted. Wasn’t it better for fathers to have “the talk” with sons? But if the son was different, this different from other boys — would Phillip really be a better choice?

  “Joey, sweetheart, I’m not sure how to explain it to you. But it’s all right. Everything’s all right. You’ll get used to it. It’ll turn out to be fun. And — you should talk to one of the doctors about, uh, reproducing. They’ll tell you it isn’t really time yet.”

  Sam and Ze-ten walked beside the river in the field behind the compound. The slow-moving river reflected the gold and ivory foliage on its banks. Ze-ten bent over and scooped up the water in his two largest hands, sealing his fingers to keep it from spilling. Sam licked his lips. “Scoop some for me?”

  “Have you taken your catalyst supplement?”

  “I may be absent-minded lately, but I’m not that bad.”

  “Your mind is not exactly absent. It is fairly close at hand. Hovering in Gina’s vicinity.”

  Sam kicked a rock in Ze-ten’s direction. “It’s not funny. I don’t know what to do! I guess it’s even worse for other humans — I don’t know how they stand it. You don’t know what it’s like, and that’s none of your doing, so don’t look so superior.”

  Ze-ten finished his drink and stood silent.

  “Zee? How about that water? Or do I have to use my own sloppy methods?

  “Ze-ten?”

  The Tofa turned to face his twin. “The difficulty is that I do know. Or rather, I do not know what it is like for you. And I know I should not. But there is something I am feeling that makes no sense.”

  He projected bafflement and embarrassment. “When I am in the presence of some of my fellow Tofa here, I feel drawn to notice them more closely. I feel a certain pull in their direction. It does not seem to correlate with shared interests or compatible personality or efficient division of duties. It reminds me of your budding biological imperative. Which is very different from ours, or so I understood.”

  Sam squatted, scooped up water, drank it, and stood with dripping fingers. “Brother. Or should I say, oh, brother. I’m sorry. We’ve got some cross-species empathetic contamination here. I wonder if it’s happening to the others.”

  “I am reluctant to inquire. Or to self-report. But I will do so. Withholding information is inconsistent with our purpose. If we are to be such strange concatenations of human and Tofa ingredients, there should at least be some societal benefit.”

  “Zee, we humans call that feeling sorry for yourself. Quit it. You and I, we are benefit enough — for ourselves and for each other. The rest will come, if all goes well. And if it doesn’t — we’ll find lives for ourselves, lives that work for us. Power to the lab rats!”

  Ze-ten projected the equivalent of a smile. “Rat solidarity, then. Let us scurry back and have lunch.”

  Dr. Sanders heard the modulating tea-kettle whistle and decided to investigate. She followed the sound down the nearest residential corridor and into the third room on the right. Ginny and Se-too were sitting and standing, respectively, on the soft carpet. Ginny was making faces at Se-too, and Se-too was flapping all five arms, and laughing his whistling laugh louder than Dr. Sanders had heard any Tofa laugh before.

  Curiouser and curiouser. While the Tofa Twin-Bred could read some human expressions, they usually showed a rather superior attitude toward the variety of same. And something else was different. The doctor did a double-take.

  “Ginny, what are you wearing!”

  Ginny started and turned away, then apparently realized it was pointless. “It’s just something I found. I think a delivery driver left it. It was outside on the fence.”

  “But it’s blue! You know we don’t allow blue here. The Tofa — well, some of them dislike it for some reason, and because we don’t know why —”

  Ginny assumed the familiar expression of adolescents compelled to explain to the clueless. “It’s not that they don’t like it. They like it a lot! Look how much fun Se-too’s having! It just shouldn’t be abused. I wouldn’t wear this in school, or none of the Tofa could pay any attention to the lesson. But here in our room, what’s wrong with a little fun?”

  “Blue is fun for the Tofa??”

  “Well, a kind of fun. Like the beer the staff like to drink when they watch sports. They get pretty loud and silly, but it doesn’t do any harm.”

 
; “So blue is an intoxicant. And you wouldn’t want it around when there’s anything serious going on.”

  “Yes, anything like school.”

  “Or elections,” murmured Dr. Sanders.

  “So they weren’t being arbitrary. They were being puritanical.”

  “That’s not fair, Levi. There are good reasons not to want people voting drunk. Alcohol service laws were common on Earth, partly to keep politicians from buying drinks for voters and taking them to the polls afterwards. The Tofa probably assumed the color would affect the human voters the way it affects them.”

  “I assume you forwarded this information to the various municipal authorities?”

  “Naturally. On ῾I told you so’ letterhead. Concrete results, Levi!”

  “Concrete. Yes. One could even call it the beginning of a foundation.”

  Chapter 29

  Finding his twin reading, Cra-set loomed over her and looked down at the text.

  “Babe, The Gallant Pig. I remember that story. You have read it four times.”

  Anna shrugged. “Why should I stop with the first reading? Nobody says, ‘That was a fine piece of music. I’ll never listen to that again.’ But some people treat books that way. Not I!”

  Cra-set blinked twice. “I would just as soon omit the first hearing, if it is music. . . . Let me recall. Babe is the pig who wants to tell sheep what to do. A task normally reserved for sheep dogs.”

  “Yes. And the sheep listen to him. Most of the time.”

  “And you intend to emulate him. Out you will go, to where the city dwellers await, and you will tell them to walk here or circle there.”

  “Go ahead, laugh. It’s inspirational reading. Morale-building.”

  Cra-set blinked again. “It would, however, be useful if there were sheep dogs to emulate. We will have considerably less guidance than your young hero.” He left Anna to her reading.

  * CONFIDENTIAL *

  CLEARANCE CLASS 3 AND ABOVE

  LEVI Status Report, 5-15-86

  Executive Summary

  Core Mission Readiness

  A recent assessment by Education Department personnel, particularly those associated with the planning and delivery of lessons in diplomacy, negotiation, psychology, sociology and history, indicates that deployment of Twin-Bred in at least some conflict situations may well be feasible in less than a year. Mission protocols are being developed. . . .

  Stan heard the crash of Mara's chair against the wall and cringed. He had thought he was safe: the draft status report had gone out three days before. He sighed and headed for her office.

  He knocked, and jumped back as the door was thrown open a fraction of a second later. Mara stood in the doorway, panting with rage. Stan tried not to recoil visibly, and then noticed with relief that her baleful glare was not directed at him, or at anything in particular. Relief quickly gave way to concern. “Mara, what's wrong?”

  She grabbed her tablet and thrust it toward him. He recognized a passage from the status report. Was he the target after all? Then he saw that the document was a response to the report, rather than the report itself. He had no time to see more before she pulled the tablet away again and shook it at him. “Those scum-sucking cretins. Those moribund, dysfunctional imbeciles. Years ago, when the twins were only children, we were supposed to throw them into the fray. And now that they're older, and trained, and nearly ready — those hypocritical, pusillanimous bottom-feeders. . . .”

  Stan gently grasped Mara's hand, pried her fingers off the tablet one by one and extracted it. “Development of the described mission protocols may be a nonoptimal utilization of staff resources. Further deliberation and study is required before consideration of authorization of any potentially destabilizing . . . “ He had to stop as Mara grabbed for the tablet. It seemed prudent to keep it out of her reach a while longer.

  “Further study,” she spat. “Study by whom? Apparently not by the scientists whose entire job, whose entire life it has been for all these years — oh, those myopic, misbegotten . . .”

  She paused for breath, and looked up at Stan with just a hint of self-deprecating humor. “Yes, she's on the rampage again, isn't she, Stan? I'm sorry. You just back on out and let me breathe fire a little longer, and then I'll put together a meeting. We'll get things moving again. Somehow.” Her expression belied the optimistic words: as her fury ebbed, what remained looked like sullen discouragement.

  Stan laid the tablet on Mara's desk and walked out, resisting the impulse to tiptoe. He closed the door behind him and returned to his desk. As he roused his computer from its slumber, he thought he heard Mara murmuring in her office, as though she had found someone whose conversation brought more comfort.

  "Levi, I don't know what to think. Is it just more fall-out from the Tofa testing incident? Or are we up against some more fundamental obstacle?"

  "There, now. You have two alternative hypotheses to test. That's familiar territory."

  "I don't know why I thought they'd actually let this project have a chance to succeed. That's not how my life goes, ever."

  "I do hope you're not adding self-pity to your emotional repertoire. It's neither productive nor entertaining. Of course the politicians are dragging their feet. That's the principal use they make of those appendages. We'll find ways to goose them along."

  "Come in.”

  Councilman Stewart Channing stepped inside and gave Veda a quick kiss on the cheek. “Where’s my granddaughter?”

  “She’s over at the compound. ‘Helping’ the dieticians. She loves to cook, and they let her hang around the kitchen once in a while. She’s always so proud when she gets to help make something. She’ll be home in a couple of hours, bearing leftovers. If you can’t wait, we’ll go over there and see her. But Jimmy and Peer-tek are here. Here’s Jimmy now. Jimmy, your grandpa’s here!”

  Stewart shook Jimmy’s hand with an assumed heartiness. Veda ground her teeth. Her father was not one to ignore the absence of biological connection. She had given up remonstrating. Besides, there was something of more immediate interest to talk about.

  “Daddy, what is in that box?” Though she thought she knew.

  Jimmy leaned toward the box. “You told me about cats once, and I have viewed about them. I believe there is a cat in that box. The sounds are right.”

  Stewart beamed. “Happy Birthday, pumpkin!”

  Peer-tek came into the room. “Pumpkin? We harvested pumpkins several months ago. They were significantly rounder than Mama Veda, even if she is rounder than in my earlier memories.”

  Stewart and Veda burst out laughing, to Jimmy’s and Peer-tek’s bewilderment.

  Veda patted Peer-tek’s nearest hand. “It’s just an expression, honey. Like ‘honey.’ It’s his way of saying he loves me. Like I love you.” She glanced at her father; he looked away.

  Peer-tek leaned over the box. “You didn’t tell us that today was your birthday. I hope you are having a happy birthday, Mama Veda. I am glad your father has brought you a present. What is the present?”

  “Ask your brother.”

  Jimmy smiled smugly. “It’s a cat. I recognized it. Without even seeing it!”

  “I remembered you liked cats. And it’s become — difficult to keep cats in areas where the Tofa may be visiting. Did I tell you that our home has been chosen as a model for the Tofa to see? It’s an outreach program.” He sat in the nearest armchair; Veda sat on the couch.

  “Congratulations, Daddy! So why can’t a model home include a cat?”

  Stewart shifted in his chair. “Well, the Tofa don’t seem to take to cats. Or so some people think. So we’re erring on the side of caution. I hope it won’t be a problem, here — with, um, Peer-tek or the others . . . .” He trailed off.

  Veda patted his hand. “Daddy, thank you. It’ll be lovely to have a cat.” She hoped so, in any event. She opened the box and lifted out a sinuous Siamese. It gave a soft yowl. She placed it carefully in her lap.

  Peer-tek blinked twice.
“The cat does not disturb me.” He examined it closely; the cat ignored him. “It is very interesting. I have no idea what it is thinking. Do cats think?”

  Veda laughed. “Well, they certainly know what they like. And don’t like. How they decide, I don’t know.” She paused and looked around. She saw nothing that looked like cat food. “What does it eat?”

  “I left a few bags of its food outside. Couldn’t carry everything at once. I’ll send you more when you need it. Or bring it, of course. When I can manage. You know how busy they keep me.”

  Veda suppressed a smile. “Of course, Daddy. We all know how important your work is. But you’re welcome, any time.”

  Jimmy reached out hesitantly. “Will it mind if I touch it?”

  “Only one way to find out, sweetie. Just move slowly and be gentle. But if it seems to object, move your hand away faster, or you could get scratched.”

  Jimmy hesitated, but seemed to feel he could not honorably withdraw from the attempt. He laid a careful hand on the soft fur. The fur evidently felt good; he moved his hand to follow the curve of the cat’s body. Then he jumped a little. “It’s vibrating!”

  Veda had to laugh again. “It’s called purring, honey. That means it likes what you’re doing.”

  “Peer-tek, you try!”

  Peer-tek blinked twice. “Perhaps later. I do not wish to introduce a complication.”

  “Well, I’ve got to go, if I’m stopping by the compound. Happy Birthday, baby.” He stood up and donned his overcoat with not entirely concealed relief.

  “I’ll walk you over.” Veda lifted the cat gently and placed it on the couch, making a mental note to improvise a litter box. As they left, Peer-tek was standing over the cat, extending one finger and considering.

  They walked in silence until the compound was close ahead. Stewart kept darting quick glances at Veda and clearing his throat. Finally he stopped and turned toward her.

  “You know, Sabrina moved back last month. She’s living near us.”

  He waited for a reaction. Veda gave him none.