by Hyde, Ed
“Well, there you go. Here we are. This is the island. This planet. The modification of the biota is exactly the same process here as on our imaginary island. No difference in concept. None.”
“Yes… ok, but there are no people on that island…” I start to say, and then notice that Grigor has joined us, standing nearby, and has evidently heard the last part of our conversation. “There are no people…”
“If there were people, it would nice if they too were compatible, yes? If they were of the same mindset, in the broadest sense, people that you could communicate with, work with, live with...”
“If not, we should wipe them out and start over, eh doll?” interjects Grigor. “That’s the human thing to do, is it not?”
“Hold on a minute…” I start to say.
“It’s ok. Grigor, I’m sure has a point. He’s a smart guy,” says Carol.
“Tendin’ the plants ‘n’ animals is one thing, but if it can talk—leave it alone,” says Grigor. “It’s not our business.”
“What about our mission here? Recording the genetics, monitoring the evolution. You know there’s been some genetic manipulation already…”
“I know it, but I don’t have to like it. And certainly don’t agree with it. We don’t have a clue what we are doing. Manipulation…” Grigor makes a sound of disgust instead of finishing his thought.
“But David’s had training, and many others before...”
“Trainin’? Don’t make me laugh. It’s like me teachin’ you two how to use my tool belt here and sending you up to work on the ship… It’s like me decidin’ today that I’m a brain surgeon. Here Jason, lay your noggin on the table. Porter,” he shouts. “Hey Porter… Rick… hey Rick, toss me a butter knife. Today I’m a surgeon. I’m going to operate on poor backward J-man here and fix ‘im up good. Maybe a fork too, he needs a tune up—sputterin’ bad.”
“Oh no, don’t tell me,” I say to Grigor. “You belong to one of hands-off groups back home…”
“I do, and you should too. Look, it’s enough already. They’re on their way, let’s leave ‘em alone.” We are all three silent for a moment. “And, sayin’ that folks, I’m on me way too.” He looks each of us right in the eye before turning to go. “Think about it,” he says as he heads out of the mess hall.
“Whew, he’s somethin’ alright. And he thinks I should have been weeded out of the program… You ok?” I ask Carol after Grigor is gone.
“Doll. He calls me ‘doll’,” she says.
“He calls everyone by his pet names. You are a doll, too, you know,” I add.
“Oh good grief. From you I like it; from him, it’s irritating. But I like to hear his ideas if I can make it through the bluster. He comes on strong, but underneath there is always a point. I disagree with him though. I would apply the same logic as in my island with the plants and animals to the people here. Same logic.”
“Really? The same?”
“These people are nearly savages. It will take them millennia to physically and culturally mature. The members of the vast majority of these populations will lead a rough and crude and short life. Think of the hunger, the cold, the constant dangers they encounter and the horrible deaths they may face. We, on the other hand, have and can implement a known good solution. It puts them on the fast track for a relatively low cost, in terms of sacrifice.
“Another aspect,” she continues, “and this is a pet peeve of mine when speaking of letting ‘nature take care of its own’, or of letting ‘nature run its course’, aren’t we part of nature? Can’t we be considered a tool of evolution and nature? Of course we can and are. So yes, I can justify what we are doing and what David may be trying to do.”
Like I said, she’s good to talk to.
Right after my return from flare damage control, I found Mark and Grigor at base camp. They now are charged with organizing the first small steps in the refit of the Hobbe. I requested that one or both of them help me to understand the acceleration system we will use on the outbound leg. This interruption in their train of thought resulted in blank stares from both of them followed by overlapping responses to the effect that “…it’s too soon…” and “…years and years away…” and “…can’t think about that right now…” and so forth. That’s all right; there’s time.
I ran into Mark, grumpier than ever, a few days later. He shared a concern with me, but was too vague about it for me to help. Something about bosses making up their minds and about having to divert time from his primary job. “It’s a goldmine down here,” he says, which explains nothing and he neglected to explain how this relates to his complaints. I think it’s clear he’s being pulled in too many directions, but he’s a big boy and can handle himself I’m sure. I wish I could think quicker on my feet; as I walked away I realized I should have given him his own advice—‘Relax!’
I did have a chance to pull some data during the last few weeks. There’s interesting information about our ship’s namesake, Ms. Hobbe. Commander Hobbe. I’ve saved that along with a few mission histories for later. Love how easy it is to capture documents on the genie and then display them later on whatever screen I’m near.
David seemed in a good mood for my entire visit to bio camp last time. We observed a couple natives from our hidden location. He wants me back there soon and I am anxious to go. I’ve got an itch to know more about what he’s doing and how it all relates to my recent discussion with Carol. I just hope he doesn’t call right away; I’ve been up to my ears in work.
I had to negotiate a really sticky problem the last few days. Communication was messed up in one direction only, from ship to ground, and for certain devices only. Very hard to resolve. Had to dig through some equipment specs and put on my troubleshooting hat. Turns out, at long last, that some code got corrupted up top and then the bad sequences migrated to some of our other devices during routine updates. Don’t know how it happened—cosmic rays hitting the chips or organics maybe? And why didn’t the healing algorithms catch it? Doesn’t look like it was related to the solar flare but… you never know. I had to knuckle down and think hard about the code and how to fix it without causing more damage.
I notice I am driven to add to this personal log less and less frequently. Suffice it to say I am really beginning to enjoy the world we have here. There are some spectacular sites out there. The never predictable results of the forces of nature can create wonders to behold. Ha, ‘wonders to behold’—where did I come up with that?
Modifications
“Get down here right away,” David says on a genie-to-genie call, “and plan on staying for a while. Oh, Jacob has put together some supplies. Bring them.”
“Jacob?”
“Gleshert,” he clarifies. I had never heard Doc’s first name out loud before. Saw it in print, never heard it.
“He’s up top at the moment so it’ll be a while before…”
“Yes, yes, so he is. Just get the supplies when he lands and come down as soon as you can.”
Just like that. Grigor was right; we need plenty of hats out here. I do check with ‘Jacob,’ but he will not be hurried. He transfers the supplies David wants to me after he arrives on the surface in his own good time.
When I finally arrive down at bio camp, days after David’s call, neither Porter nor Craig make a move to exit the craft. “Coming?” I ask, to both of them.
“Nope. Like I said, we’ve got an important date,” says Porter.
“Oh? But I thought you meant…”
“Ah, but the date is not here, it’s somewhere else. Where are we going, Craigster?”
“32 East and 37 North or thereabouts.”
“32 East and 37 North. We are just doing a drop off and a pick up here,” Porter echoes with a smile.
“But I’m staying here.”
“That we know. That you said.”
“Right. Thanks for the ride. I’ll just grab these…”
______
I set my load down near where I see David and h
ave a look around the small enclosed camp area; things have changed. David greets me.
“I see you’ve enlarged the work area.”
“You bet. It’s a must. Spending a lot of time here. Think I’m onto something. Make yourself at home; you’re going to help me.”
He doesn’t notice my look of concern and for the moment I choose not to say anything more than, “So how can I help?”
“Plenty of time, make yourself at home, I’ll be right back. Sorry, I’m right in the middle of something.”
He checks the exterior surroundings via cams and then exits the carefully camouflaged bio camp work area. I see that one part of the expansion includes a more extensive lab area. It’s with a shock that I notice in the lab area what is clearly a patient examination table. There is no doubt in my mind now that David has had his work subjects inside here. For what purpose—sequencing and documenting their genetics? From what I know, getting a sample shouldn’t require this equipment.
David returns while I am still looking over the changes.
“Damn, they are at it again,” he says, shaking his head. I don’t respond but I see that he sees me looking at the table. His hair is longer than I remember it and he’s neglected to shave in a while. “Cloning,” he says simply. “You’re wondering about the lab. Look, I found ideal specimens here. They were right where the most optimistic predictions said they would be, genetically speaking.”
“Ok…”
“I picked a few really prime examples, found the purest and made a decision. My background is technical—you know this?—and is specifically in genetics—theory and applied. We know where this genome should end up…”
“Hey,” I say, not meaning to interrupt, when I notice there is someone else in the camp with us. It’s Brachus. I can feel the tension rise in me, but I’m not sure why it should be so. I’ve had little interaction with him for a while, only what’s absolutely required. I’ve known from almost the first moment that we will not get along personally and I believe he feels the same. His official data and reports come in regularly, and that’s enough for me.
“Hey yourself. How’s it goin’?” Brachus says with his big, toothy grin.
“Good, good. David asked me in for a while. You here too?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he says, chuckling a bit and his eyes sparkling. Why does this guy irritate me so much? But he does. Turning to David he says, “Natives restless again?”
“Prowling around our perimeter. Again. They know we are in here, or they know something is in here and they won’t let it go.” His face shows puzzlement, then concern. “The package?”
It takes me a second or two to realize he is talking to me, and is referring to the medical supplies. “Over here,” I say and I move to grab the supplies I got from Gleshert. David helps and we put the cases on the lab’s open shelving unit. I pick up my personal effects and throw a questioning glance to David. He points to the bunk that will be mine. As those two begin to talk, I take a few moments to relax on the bunk and close my eyes. It seems like seconds later but it must have been longer when I hear the runabout leave.
“Wesley?” I ask, getting up.
“It’s just you and me now, bud,” says David.
“David, what’s going on? What can I do?”
David works his lower lip and looks toward me and then away as if trying to think where to begin. I take a long look at his outfit, which, while standard garb, it is not in the best of condition. In fact, it looks to me as if he has been doing a bit of prowling around himself.
“You mentioned cloning…”
“Yes, yes, cloning. Well… modified cloning… let’s say that.”
“Ok…”
David moves to the shelving, transfers the new supplies to the table and I join him as we open and unpack the contents. Working side by side, David begins again. “I need your help. Here’s where we are. You’ve heard the first part of the story. Using our genome template we gathered initial samples from the people, the natives. Short version: I identified what I call a nearly ideal population— really close to the optimum predicted in our mission folio.”
Occasional eye contact whilst sorting and storing the medical supplies helps me to judge David’s state of mind. I get the feeling that he’s leveling with me, or just about to.
He continues, “And that’s fine as far as it goes. We could continue the documentation process for the people and include the major species of plant and animals. There are endless opportunities to document, but…”
“And have we gathered enough data to satisfy our minimum requirements?”
David stops for a moment with his arms in midair after putting an empty case up on the top shelf. “Bare minimum, yes. Suggested minimum, no. The analyzer takes a bit of time to sort and classify sequences; then makes suggestions for additional samples.”
“Makes suggestions?”
“Yes. All the samples are tagged and entered with location information. Once the system has a handle on the global variants, it can suggest where to look for intermediate populations if it thinks there should be one. It’s still making periodic requests.”
“Oh, and Wesley and his team are no doubt able to pick up the remote samples.” David nods agreement. “But what’s the problem?” I ask.
“Hold up. Let me continue,” says David. “First, Mark’s timeline says we are here for quite some time yet, maybe a total of 4,000 local years, so I believe there is a real opportunity for this mission to shine.”
“How so?”
“Look, I’ve gone ahead and selected an ideal specimen some time ago. Also, I decided to begin telomeric treatments on him,” David says quietly, looking at me as we move to the central clearing in the bio camp and sit. He leans back and looks up while holding his head with both hands and stretching his legs out.
“I had heard something of that.”
“Well, it’s true and the reasoning is that…”
“More offspring equals more good genes.”
“Exactly. If we could just get a good population going I’m sure we… I could make a few adjustments to really bring these people along. After all, we know where the end line is…” David smiles and trails off a bit. By ‘end line’ he means ‘us’, I’m certain.
He shakes off his momentary silence and continues, “But, it’s not working. My hero is mixing with other natives who may or may not share all or even most of the positive traits we are hoping will dominate in the end. Dilution. It’s not going to work. The best thing would be to have a controlled population beginning with a mating pair both of whom have the desired traits. So…” David sits up more or less straight, feet flat on the ground now. “That’s where the cloning came in.”
He seems to me now to be talking mostly to convince himself. Or maybe this is a rehearsed logic that he needs to say to solidify it. If he can get me to agree then... After all, the more buy-in one gets—the consensual validation concept again—the surer one feels about one’s ideas.
“But…”
“Modified cloning. I told you, I have some experience, I know what I am doing, and I have all the equipment I need here. I took a viable sample from my—I call him Alpha but already Wes and others are calling him Al— from his bone marrow and created, not a true clone, but a mate.” I remain silent and nod, looking down now and not making eye contact. “It’s a bit tricky but it can be done. The hard part is making sure the mate, Bee, develops normally and in a proper environment with native upbringing.”
“Don’t tell me. Bee—for Beta. Al and Bee.” He nods. I want to make a crack about their kids, but stifle it.
“You were saying Bee and a native environment… Wait, you are talking about native parents for the clo… for Bee? I mean, and having her raised among the natives?” The look I get from David tells me the answer is yes. As this sinks in, I say, “I guess we should start calling you Doc now too,” without smiling and without expecting a smile from David. He does not disappoint. “So, is it working? I
mean, where are we in this?”
“Oh, it’s working all right. Born and raised. She is a young adult already, and healthy. She has been brought into the valley and now we have them both isolated in the study area surrounding this camp.”
“Wow, so you have been busy out here. How long has she been here? I mean, any results yet?
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing, and there won’t be any, at least for the moment.”
David looks at me but I fail to understand. “You mean…?” I begin but David interrupts.
“Temporary sterility. I want a little more time with these two before enabling reproduction.”
Now I am really confused. “Why? It makes no difference genetically. Let them go.”
“No. First, I am going to add Bee to the t-sessions.”
“And…”
“And, that’s where you come in.”
These few notes are made on my genie in my bunk at bio camp with David. He has requested not to use, for the time being, open channels for any of the data or records of incidents that fall outside of basic mission directives. He left me understanding that once he is sure of some significant progress his records will be added in toto. I don’t like it; the objectives do say something about ‘discretionary intervention’ so why hide it? My guess is he’s not as confident as he acts about what he’s doing.
Dylan has been in several times to teach us as much as he can of the local native language. He’s become reasonably fluent with each of the populations with which he has had contact during his field trips. It’s easy for me to pick up the basics. Gestures are a part of it as well.
Dylan has confided in me that his work under Brachus is less than fulfilling; he, Dylan, finds that the relationships he has formed with the natives at the remote sites, now spanning several generations, capture the bulk of his interest. It fills what must be for him, in my opinion, a familial need. I should ask him about his past sometime. He says that he learned from the local group here their word for this planet—Amara. Nice, I like it. Amara.