And it wasn’t just the animals. Several plants had proven poisonous or carnivorous, even a tree!
They had adopted Susan’s proposal about exposing the developing livestock fetuses to the air of their adopted planet, and the delivery of normal, healthy livestock was now routine. It took months for the colonists to overcome their conditioned abhorrence and learn to kill and butcher animals, but once a few hardy souls had proven capable of doing so under Tara’s tutelage, the colonists were virtually unanimous in deciding that real meat was far superior to synthetics, be it beef, pork, sheep, goat, chicken, or rabbit.
Test plots had been planted with Earth grasses, and the lake seeded with Earth plants and algae before the plague hit. Monitoring of progress had, of course, been sporadic and largely unscientific during the plague. Fortunately, once infected by the symbiont, it seemed that Earth life was actually stronger than native life. The Earth-based food chain had been carefully genetically engineered by EarthGov to succeed, despite any possible missing links.
The first Earth plant actually sown on Crashlanding had been Earth grasses, with some accompanying insect eggs and larvae. The computer had explained that until the livestock had grazing lands, they would have to be hand-fed using the ship’s stocks. These were, of course, limited. By the time the plague had passed and the Council gotten the colonists motivated to survive once again, the test plots were green with Earth grasses instead of the mottled green/brown of the native plains grasses. The grasses had spread well beyond the test plots themselves, to become fully-fledged pasture. Chief Pilot Schmidt had died of the plague, and none of the survivors had flying skills. So, teams of women, protected by Scouts and militia, fanned out, sowing grass seed by hand, as their ancestors had done for millennia. Within a few days, Earth-descended grass seed had been sown from the ship to the river.
The lake had shown similar results, though it was slower, there. Some of the native aquatic creatures were hardier than the plains grasses, and were resisting their replacement by Earth-descended equivalents. Still, it was obvious that they were well on the way to a stable food chain in Gouge Lake.
By the one year mark, the number and size of the farms surrounding the colony had begun to slowly grow. The colonists discovered the joys of eating real, fresh produce instead of processed synthetics and were actually becoming weaned from the ship’s food supply as the local food became available. The inconvenience of stopping work to return to the ship for meals was, of course, a large factor. Whatever the reason, Cesar noted with relief that consumption reports showed a steady decline. He hoped that enough food stocks would remain aboard the ship to become an emergency resource.
Still, the Council decided that active exploration could wait. Their population was still far too precarious to take risks. The Militia escorted the machines clearing the land, protecting the operators from predators. The militiamen were told not to take any chances, and ruthlessly slaughtered any native animal they saw. Tara had refused to give up her beloved Mannlicher rifle, and she hounded Cesar mercilessly until the Council agreed that farmers should be given a crash course in weapons handling, and issued hand lasers with which to protect themselves, their families, and their livestock from predators. Susan’s lab was nearly always full to overflowing with Crashlanding animal and plant life.
It turned out that life on Crashlanding was carbon-based, but every animal or plant Susan examined shared something of that strange virus that caused the plague. In the plants, it was more rudimentary, simpler than in the animal life, but it was definitely there, and definitely related. They also universally metabolized an alkaloid that was fatal to Earth life, though they themselves seemed unaffected by it. Susan had been searching for an antidote, so far without success.
Susan had never stopped worrying about the genetic diversity issue, despite daily distractions. Still, it was several months before she and Vlad invited Cesar and Helen to their home.
“I could kick myself,” Susan said disgustedly. “I should have seen it in minutes, not months. We can use the incubators! The same ones we use for incubating livestock. A human fetus is not much larger than a piglet. The incubators should accommodate it easily.
“We don’t carry fertilized ova for humans,” she continued, “but we have sperm and egg donations from the entire pre-plague population. It will be a simple matter to test their DNA and then fertilize the ova in the lab. We can create as many genetically stable ‘test tube babies’ as we can nurture!”
Cesar smiled. “Well, it should certainly be easier to find women to adopt babies than it would be to convince them to carry and bear one.”
Vlad just shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “It seems to me there would be plenty of problems. The first you’ll run into is the people all thinking about having us clone spouses or children lost to the plague.”
“Well,” Susan replied, “we certainly can’t do that. For one thing, we’re not equipped for gene surgery or DNA modification, much less cloning, which is a far more involved procedure. And even if we could, it would be a social catastrophe. Most people don’t realize that just because someone has a certain genetic makeup doesn’t mean they’ll develop anything like the original person. Everyone involved would be miserable, including the child. Maybe especially the child.”
Vlad grinned. “In other words, nature versus nurture rears its ugly head. Okay, if they can’t have clones of lost children, the next idea will be using the parents’ DNA to have another baby.” He snorted. “They won’t stop to realize that there’s no real difference between that and just having another baby naturally.”
Susan shrugged. “It’s worse than that. What if the parents’ DNA isn’t compatible? What if their dead child carried a recessive gene that would have been fatal in another generation? How do you tell them you won’t permit it?”
Cesar was frowning. Now he shrugged. “I assume they would simply try for another natural childbirth. In fact, I’m sure many already have. And there would be very few cases of genetic incompatibility. If I remember correctly, genetic screening was part of EarthGov processing. Frankly, I’m more worried about having women on light duty for weeks. Not to mention the risks to their health. Now that Ryles has rammed through that ridiculous 'castle' idea, we need all the workers we have. We cannot afford to lose anyone for weeks.
“You’re right, of course,” Susan replied with a rueful smile. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“When you took those sperm and egg donations, I assume you took all the information on the donors? Names, and so forth?”
“Of course.”
“And they would have seen your people entering the data into the computer,” Cesar continued. He paused. “But it’s urgent that we diversify our genetic makeup. I think we need a computer glitch. Something that will ‘lose’ all the identification records, but keep all the DNA records.”
Vlad shook his head. “I don’t think you could sell it, Oh, maybe to the drones. Most of them think the computer is magical anyway. But a lot of the Undies are more sophisticated than you think. Could you have sold that story to Ron Creding?”
Cesar shook his head, frowning. “Of course not.”
Vlad nodded. “And you won’t be able to sell it to a lot of the others, either. They’ll just lose trust in you. I think you should do an EarthGov. Classify it. Tell ‘em that sperm and egg will be matched up strictly by genetic factors, and that parental identities will not be revealed. Then stick to it.”
“I’m not sure the Council will buy it.” Cesar said doubtfully.
Vlad shrugged. “You’re the head honcho of the computer. You tell it to classify those files, or even to forget them, it will.”
Cesar’s head shake was firm. “No. I won’t do that. This must be something decided by at least the Council, and perhaps referred to the entire colony.”
“Why even worry about it?” Helen asked. “Just announce the capability, and let nature take its course.”
“That has been tried,” Susan rep
lied. “Remember the ‘designer baby' scandal twenty years ago?”
Helen grimaced. “Yes, I do. Some of the strongest sermons my husband ever wrote were on that subject.”
Susan smiled. “Yes, the churches went crazy. But they weren’t the only ones. I studied it as a case in an ethics class. The idea that the wealthy could simply have a child’s DNA programmed, as it were, and produce a baby with the intelligence of a Joshua Combs and the looks of a vid star. Silly, of course. Even on Earth we didn’t know enough about DNA surgery to approach that level of complexity. But the newsies didn’t care. It was a sensational story.”
Vlad looked confused. “I really didn’t follow the story that carefully. It wasn’t in my specialty. But what about that doctor…Steinman, was it? He went to prison for life, didn’t he?”
Susan’s smile was sad as she shook her head. “He was a fool. He had a few successes with gene splicing and DNA surgery in the lab, and couldn’t wait to run to the newsies with them. The newsies ran with it, and before long, billionaires were throwing money at Steinman.” She shrugged. “He couldn’t resist the money and the fame. Of course, he had a long string of failures. There were rumors of a few successes, but the prosecutors could find no records of them. No, his crime was raising peoples’ hopes and then dashing them.”
Cesar waved a dismissing hand. “Long ago and light-years away. We have a situation to deal with right here. Artificial insemination or crèche-born, we still have to deal with the issues of insularity and reluctance to adopt.
“Don’t forget that idiot Wen. ‘My wife will bear no man’s child but mine’,” he mimicked. “Do you really think he’ll be open to adopting a Caucasian baby? And you can be sure there will be many like him.”
Susan frowned. “I suppose there will. It’s hard to believe that people still worry about that race nonsense.”
Vlad burst into laughter. “Sorry, blondie, but a lot of people still worry about ‘that race nonsense’. I know that EarthGov thinks they’ve eliminated racism, but they’re wrong. Just because the parlor progressives think they’re above it, that doesn’t mean race isn’t very important to those farther down the food chain. And don’t think it’s a one-way street,” he continued. “Black people, or Asians, or Arabs, can all be as bigoted as the whites.”
Susan’s face darkened, and she started a hot retort, but Cesar stopped her. “He’s right, Susan. Racism stems from insularity, and Drones can become very insular. If you spend your entire life seeing only Asian faces, encountering a white one can be a shock. One always thinks that their birth culture is the ‘right’ one, and anything different must be less perfect. It’s human nature.
“You’re a blue-eyed blonde,” he continued. “Surely you noticed all the stares in the Drone dorms.”
Susan’s expression was still stormy. “Of course I’ve noticed it. The only time it ever bothered me was when a mother would snatch up a child, as though I were some sort of child-devouring monster.”
Cesar shrugged. “To her you were different, and therefore an unknown danger. It’s not much of a stretch from ‘unknown danger’ to ‘known threat’ and eventually to ‘evil’.
“Our survivors are seventy three percent Asian,” Vlad put in. “I’m sorry, dear, but there are two blue-eyed blondes. In a century there won’t be any, unless we meddle with the genes.” He shrugged. “It’s even worse for me. I’m the only black left. Oh, you have samples from another dozen or so, but I’m the only one still walking around.”
Susan’s proposal set off a firestorm on the Council. Vlad and Cesar were correct. Most of the Drone Councilors insisted on ‘racial purity’, while the white and Mediterranean Councilors, now a minority, raged against the discrimination.
Doug Ryles was uncharacteristically silent on the issue. He understood the threat, of course, but he was simply too self-centered to expend political capital on an issue that would not surface during his lifetime. The surviving Caucasians would insist on Caucasian babies, so their race would survive at least several more generations. And genetic diversity is a slow-motion bomb. It would probably be centuries before inbreeding caused the colony to fail and the colonists to die off. There would be generations of Councils to worry about that threat.
He did realize that at some point whoever controlled the breeding program would become one of the most powerful and influential people in the colony. But for at least the first few years, it was obvious that they would need a scientist to head it up; and there was really only one colonist qualified for the job: Susan Renko, wife of Montero's tame black, Vlad Renko.
So, there was no need to become involved yet. He'd make his move once the technical details were worked out, and special knowledge was no longer needed to run the program. Then, even if the Montero crowd succeeded in keeping him from being elected Colony Administrator, as head of the breeding program he'd be very nearly as powerful, with a hold over popular opinion that even Montero wouldn't dare challenge.
Chapter 12
Ninthmonth 17, Year 2 of the Landing
Finally, at the insistence of Cesar, Sun, and their allies, the Council decided to convene a meeting of all the colonists to discuss the issue. Doug Ryles voted against the meeting, more out principle than actual opposition. He wanted to keep as much decision-making power as possible for the Council, and didn't want to establish a precedent for popular vote. He had leverage on five of the thirteen Councilors, and was working to gain influence over as many of the others as possible. But over twelve hundred people? Nobody had that much influence, even Montero. So why would the old chink push for a meeting? There must be an angle Doug wasn’t seeing. He voted 'No', but didn't use his leverage to press the others. Every time he used his power over the others, it increased the chances some fool with more courage than good sense would get up on his hind legs and begin fighting Doug instead of caving to him. Without knowing Montero's angle, it would be foolish for Doug to risk it.
"I think we're going to lose," Vlad said glumly. "You saw what happened in Council. They voted almost strictly along racial lines."
Cesar sighed. "I know," he replied soberly. "But we have to give them the chance to vote. At least we'll get a chance to make our points." He shrugged. "I guess we'll just have to hope they vote with their brains, and not their prejudices."
Helen Shourd, now Helen Montero, shook her head. "Logic is a frail reed to stand up to prejudices ingrained since childhood. I'm afraid Vlad's right. You won't get many Asians willing to accept a Caucasian baby as their own."
Susan Renko, formerly Susan James, snorted derisively. "Why must people think in absolutes? This isn't black or white, or in this case Asian or Caucasian. There are many shades of gray, or brown. We're not telling an Asian woman she must raise a Caucasian child. All we're asking is that they consider adopting a mixed-race child. Surely that's not too much to ask."
Vlad shrugged. "I still think we're going to get beat."
Helen scowled. "I agree. But what irritates me even more is Ryles' toadies spreading a rumor that Ryles rammed the meeting idea through the Council, while Cesar and his 'henchmen' fought to 'deprive the people of their right to make their feelings known'."
Cesar shrugged. "There's not really much we can do about it. We all know that the truth will never catch up with a rumor. It's hardball politics, and it's actually smarter than I gave him credit for being." He turned to Vlad with a grin. "How's it feel to be a 'henchman'?"
Vlad shook his head. "I think I preferred being a 'minion'."
Despite the fact that the meeting was to be broadcast simultaneously over the colony's 'net, every colonist not on essential duty seemed to have gathered in the Colony building. The meeting had been announced over the 'net for more than a week, and had been scheduled for Rest Day morning in order to assure adequate time and maximum attendance. It seemed no one wanted to miss the first in-person meeting since the landing.
"Good morning," Cesar greeted them. "As you know, it has been our custom for the Council to reg
ularly report its activities over the 'net. However, we are approaching two years since our arrival on the world we have named 'Crashlanding'. We of the Council felt that it was time for a comprehensive, colony-wide meeting to address where we have been, where we are, and where we are going.
"We have faced many challenges, and surmounted many crises during the last two years, and we can be proud of our accomplishments. We have survived the crash of our starship and the deaths of more than twenty percent of our people, and we have survived the plague that claimed over 60 percent of our loved ones that survived the crash. We have now survived two of Crashlanding's winters, which we have learned are relatively mild at this geographic location.
"Still," he continued, "We have much of which we can be proud. Despite a total population of only 1240, we completed the dam that protects the ship and its critical resources, and have begun work on the 'castle' structure to protect us. We now have over five hundred hectares under cultivation, and an estimated 1100 head of livestock to provide us with real meat, milk and cheese to accompany our crops. Our scouts report that earth-descended grasses, insects, and wildlife have spread aggressively, and now dominate almost 26 thousand hectares of land. That is land which we can use for future development, and it continues to grow.
"It was more difficult for earth-descended life to take over Gouge Lake. The native marine life is tough and tenacious. But now, a year after seeding the lake, we have a stable, earth-descended aquatic environment, as our fishermen can testify.
"Altogether, we have been able to stop using the ship's supplies to provide food for ourselves, and as a result, we have an emergency reserve in case of catastrophe.
"As for the colony itself, we continue to convert empty domes to workshops, and a healthy economy has developed, though we must still use 'ship scrip' as currency. We are actively searching for a currency base that can replace the beer-based currency of the ship, and as we locate base materials, our manufacturing capacity continues to grow."
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