“No, Kira.” Dr. Gallagher says. She pauses, appears to reconsider her words. “At least, it’s not necessary in your lifetime. But think about it. What if something happens to you? What if you never have children who inherit your gift? Without you and others like you, there may be nothing between humankind and oblivion. But if we have the forethought to protect your genetic material for future generations ….”
“Just because you’re able to create a version of me from a fragment of my DNA doesn’t mean it would have the same abilities.”
“Not ‘it,’ Kira, ‘she.’ And it doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have your abilities. That’s what the research might tell us. We can determine if it’s possible to amplify specific DNA sequences to facilitate the trait in future offspring.”
My hand is shaking inside J.D.’s, and he clasps it more tightly, trying to anchor me. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I whisper.
Thorne, who has reentered the enclosure, interrupts. “Kira, it may not be up to you.”
“I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS!” I turn abruptly and race out of the enclosure. I can hear J.D. fast on my heels and let him catch up.
“Those poor girls …” I stutter.
“You know he’s watching you on his tracking device,” J.D. murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
I toss him a look. “Of course he is. And if they make clones of me, every single one of those girls will be tracked and scrutinized her entire life.” I stop in my tracks and turn on him, suddenly horrified by a thought. “You don’t think they’ve already started cloning me somewhere, do you?”
“I don’t see how they could have. I think they need truly perfect DNA for something like that to be successful.”
My mind is racing. “My hairbrush from the Garner Home for Girls or … or … the implant gun would have retained some DNA when they planted the chip in my arm. Or those stupid prosthetics they took from us after Thorne captured us at HQ.”
“We’ll look into it, Kira. We’ll find out as much as we can to answer your questions, but I don’t know if the samples you’re describing would be good enough. And if the UTC ever did get what they needed to successfully clone your DNA, you know those girls wouldn’t be you. They’d have different experiences shaping them, different people influencing their lives.”
“Sure, like scientists and handlers. But they might not have friends like you and Tamara and Tuck. They’d be slaves, a—a herd of Kiras, no different than this herd of camels.” My voice hitches, and I have to hold my breath to keep back a sob. Why is this so upsetting to me?
I wipe my eyes, gradually noticing that one of the camels has stuck her head over the gate and is watching me curiously. I notice she has a patch of black hair beneath her left ear. I glance at a second camel and realize it has the same black patch. No way. I hurry down the enclosure examining each animal. They’re identical, right down to the black patch of hair and a tan blemish on one front hoof. They really are clones—each one a genetic match to the others. I spin, desperate to get away, but J.D. grabs my hand.
“Here, sit down.” He pulls me over to a bale of dry grass stacked near the camel pen. “If you wander past the gorge entrance, you know Thorne will come after us. Take a minute and try to pull yourself together.”
I gaze past him.
He turns to see Thorne’s guard standing a short distance away. We’re quiet, watching him watch us. J.D. lets out a breath. “He’s giving us room.”
“I’m sure they clone the most obedient camels, the ones who produce the most milk, require the least amount of water, and don’t make a fuss,” I say bitterly. “It’d be the same with the Kiras they’d produce. They’d want quiet, obedient girls, so they’d keep tinkering with them until they got one docile enough to reproduce in perpetuity.”
I turn and wrap my arms around J.D., laying my head against his shoulder. “You know if I ever had a child, it would be the same thing. A little girl, a little boy—it wouldn’t matter. Thorne, or his successor, someone would always be watching, waiting to see if my gift had been passed.”
“We’d protect her, or him. We’d protect all of them.”
I smile into his neck. J.D. is my rock, the most constant thing in my life. But the thought is fleeting. Quickly, dark thoughts inch their way back. “How are we going to get away from Thorne?” I whisper.
“We’ll find a way.”
“It’ll be harder this time.”
“I don’t recall it being easy the last time, but we did it.”
A nudge at my shoulder has me turning my head. I stare into big, wet eyes furred with long lashes. “J.D., I think the camels are still hungry.”
“Thomaz said he would take them out to forage later.”
I examine the pen. “Who has scooping duties?”
He peers over the rail. “Looks like a two-man job,” he says lightly. He’s watching me closely. “You feel better?”
“I feel like burning off some steam.”
An hour later, we return to the enclosure and find everyone inside, huddled around Dr. Gallagher’s microscope. Thomaz hands each of us an algae bar.
Fig has been standing with Miranda, but now she comes over, leans against my hip for a long moment. I angle my head down and discover her concerned eyes on mine and the thin filaments fluttering along the skin of my arm. It tickles.
“Sometimes I have bad days,” she says softly. “Are you having a bad day?”
“I’m better now.” I reach down and stroke her hair lightly. “Thank you for asking.”
“You smell like camel.”
Smiling, I take a bite of my algae bar.
Dr. Gallagher gives me a brief look, then addresses the group. “In the past hour, I’ve tested six flowers from the upper elevation of the tree. Four of them have been fertilized. It looks like your efforts last night succeeded.”
Thomaz beams and Miranda gives a little whoop.
“I think it would be a good idea if we repeat those efforts tonight in the lower half of the tree. The flower clusters may still be receptive. I’ll test and confirm once the blossoms open. Now that we know the tree has been fertilized, I’ve decided to spend the next few months on site, monitoring the fruit development. Lukas has agreed to keep the guards here to protect our work while he takes Kira and J.D. north to locate the original source waters of the Tigris and Euphrates.”
“What about Tuck and Tamara?” I ask.
Dr. Gallagher turns to Tamara. “Tamara, as you know, I used to work with your husband. Eric was a talented scientist. I remember him telling me once that you assisted him in the lab?”
She looks confused but answers readily. “In the beginning of our marriage I did. After I got pregnant, he arranged for a tech to take over my duties …” Her voice slows, gets quiet.
“That’s all I needed to know. I have a proposal for you. I’ve discussed it with Thorne and he agrees.”
Tamara glances from one to the other. “What is it?”
“With me here at the tree, I’m going to need someone to look after my projects in Eden. It’s not going to be difficult for you. You’ll keep my experiments moving forward, monitor soil conditions, and be my proxy with the agricultural staff. Miranda can help you. She understands my protocols. I’ll travel back and forth periodically, but for the next few months, I need to maintain a presence here. I’ll go through my projects with you thoroughly, and we’ll be in daily contact throughout my absence. And,” she gazes firmly at Miranda, “even though I know my daughter is quite self sufficient, you would be doing me a huge service if you would cohabitate with Miranda until I’m back at Eden. I don’t want her—or Fig—to miss any more school than they already have.”
Tamara sends Miranda a look of inquiry. The pretty girl doesn’t hesitate. She gives Tamara a smile and nods her acceptance of this plan.
“Would there be a place for Tuck at Eden?” Tamara asks, unsure whether to direct her comment to Dr. Gallagher or to Thorne.
“Absolutely,
” the doctor says briskly. “Eden has more work than we have hands to do it. We’re in the process of relocating the residents from aboveground tents to underground domiciles. There’s plenty of living space.” Dr. Gallagher shifts her attention to Tuck. “Is that agreeable with you?”
“Happy to help however I can,” he replies casually.
Fig detaches herself from my side and goes over to Tamara, gives her a hug. I feel the loss of her presence, but I’m happy for Tamara, who plants a kiss on top of Fig’s head, then sends a pleased smile to the group.
It looks like things have been sorted to someone’s satisfaction, I observe, a feeling of grouchiness sneaking over me. Dr. Gallagher and Thomaz get the tree. Tuck and Tamara get Eden and Miranda and Fig. As for me and J.D…. we get Thorne.
“Oh goody,” I mutter under my breath.
20
After one final night of flower pollination, we all return to Eden, leaving Thomaz and a guard behind with the tree. I am temporarily unneeded, so I’m free to wander the small biosphere and observe daily life in Eden. I hover quietly as Dr. Gallagher shows Tamara around the new laboratories, instructing her about current projects before packing up supplies to take back with her to the tree. It doesn’t take long for either Tamara or Tuck to adapt to their new environment, and I’m reminded that both had been contented bio-dwellers when I met them.
Miranda and Fig are delighted to learn they will be sharing a bedroom. Soon, they’ll resume school in new underground classrooms. The tents are dismantled and packed away in storage as residential life in Eden moves below the surface.
After a few days of meetings, Thorne announces he’s ready to return to the source springs of the rivers. J.D. and I will go with him. I am feeling out of sorts when I give Tamara a hug good-bye. I can see she’s relieved not to be going with us. With one brief glance back at Eden, J.D. and I climb aboard the transport with Thorne, heading north to begin the work that might bring water and life back to the Fertile Crescent.
“What can you tell me about the source waters?” I ask Thorne, once we’re en route.
“This is going to be different from the Opawinge Aquifer,” he says slowly, referring to our first fill together. “That aquifer included a freestanding body of underground water, so you were able to connect directly with the source. The Tigris and Euphrates Rivers were fed by multiple mountain springs among the highland territories. At the peak of their flow, these springs were fed not only by a complex labyrinth of subsurface flow paths but also by rain showers and melting snow. We no longer have the latter, of course, but I’m hoping you can recreate layers of water that will flow through the eroded limestone and successfully filter through sand and clay to the original exit points. In one of the locations, we may be going underground to a cavern area. For most of the original springs we visit, my hope is you’ll be able to do … what you do … from the aboveground spot where the water used to exit the rock.”
I’m quiet, taking in this new information. “I don’t think that will be a problem, but I suspect it will take longer to fill. I’d like to see some type of visual representation that outlines each spring formation and the geologic environment belowground. Is it possible to see a map of flow passageways during the mature years of the river?”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“It sounds like we won’t know if Kira’s efforts have worked until water begins to flow through the original orifice. Is that correct?” asks J.D.
“Or creates a new one,” Thorne responds. “We have to consider that possibility.”
After landing at a remote airstrip, we transfer our belongings to a chopper, which will be more efficient at managing short trips throughout the mountain range. In the distance, I notice a substantial biosphere, maybe twenty times the size of Eden.
“Are most of the people in this area residing in the biosphere, or are population groups still living within the mountain range?”
“A number of independent family groups are scattered throughout this area. Some of them have relationships with the biosphere and come in for health services or to purchase supplies, but they’ve never been willing to relinquish their autonomy.”
“Thomaz explained to us that there’s a strong independent spirit in these territories,” J.D. comments. “I know we’re far from Eden, but I’m guessing the people here are similar in their practices?”
“There’s much to admire,” Thorne admits with apparent reluctance. “But it would help our resource allocation efforts if we could convince more of them to register with the biospheres. They don’t understand that our commitment to rebuild this area requires every set of hands in order to be successful. There are groups here who continue to propagandize against our efforts and create unrest.”
I bite my lip but say nothing. I’m always reading between the lines of Thorne’s comments. The biosphere development program had been one of the ways the United Territories Council achieved peace after the Devastation. It was an unprecedented effort, to bring different peoples and cultures together under one planetary governing system that controlled all the resources. At the time, it seemed to be the only way to protect everyone’s future. Repeatedly, humans had demonstrated that nationalistic governments could not keep the peace or protect natural resources for the greatest good. Once scientists persuaded world leaders that the earth was one giant biofeedback mechanism, it no longer made sense to have stewardship of the physical components of the Earth under multiple governments. Air, water, and soil had to be protected in order for the human race to survive. The decisions national leaders made, even if intended only for their small corner of the planet, still impacted everybody else on it. The planet was a complex, interacting system that maintained the climatic and biogeochemical conditions for every living creature. The only hope for survival was creating a governing body that had the health and well-being of the entire planet as the core of its mission.
For better or worse, the Unified Territories Council is that governing body.
The chopper transports us to a dry valley, where we set off on foot for the next leg of the journey. Periodically, Thorne checks the GPS coordinates and we adjust our direction. Before too long, however, our way is blocked by an expanse of smooth stone along the face of a small mountain.
“We’ll have to find another way,” I say.
Thorne shakes his head. “This is it.”
I stare at the rock face towering above me. “This is it?”
He glances at his device and walks forward about ten meters, pointing to a spot below where we’re standing. “See that depression? The spring fed into that spot.”
Dubiously, J.D. eyes a small hole in the rock face. “It’s not very big.”
“That may be the biggest opening we see on our trip. You don’t need a big opening to move a lot of water. All you need is the smallest fissure in the stone, even a centimeter wide, and you can create a conduit.” He pulls out his tablet. “Kira, look.”
I move closer and watch as he pulls up a geologic map. He shows us how the water once moved through karst, water-carved limestone formations that run underground throughout this area. “At one time, twenty percent of the world’s populations obtained their water via karst systems,” he says.
“The distribution channels are clear.” I scan every detail of the map. “The underground passageways coalesced at this one spot. You can see on the top there where it was blocked by a harder interface, dolomite maybe, and then it resurfaces here. The spring discharged all that water and it traveled down the valley to form this.” I point out one of the tributary lines of the Euphrates.
J.D. moves closer to see, touches my hand as he speaks to Thorne. “Are we camping here tonight?”
“My plan is to hike back to the chopper and camp there. At dawn, we’ll depart for the next spring. My staff will be conducting visual checks by satellite, but we know it could take weeks before we see even a trickle of water out of the rock. We can loop back here and take hydrologic measurements afte
r Kira has seeded the last spring.”
“In that case,” I say, “if you don’t mind ….”
He turns to give me an assessing look, then closes his tablet, snaps the case shut. “I’ll be up on the ridge. Take your time.”
As Thorne heads back the way we came, J.D. clasps my hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Weird, isn’t it, to be dashing about by chopper to make a different water source every day? When we were walking, it took us weeks to reach each new basin.”
“Does it worry you at all, the scope of this?”
I give a small shrug. “Either it works or it doesn’t. What I do is the same, regardless.”
“It has never not worked though, has it?”
That’s my fear. That one day I will dry up—that whatever I do will simply … stop. “The amount of time it takes varies, but it always seems to work eventually. I wish I understood it better.”
“What can I do?”
I squeeze his hand. “You’re doing it. It makes me feel better to have you here with me. It always does.” J.D. plays with my fingers as we gaze at the landscape around us. “They’re pretty mountains, aren’t they?”
“You think? Beige, brown, tan, dirt-colored … dirt-covered. Oh, and that one there, it’s most definitely a striking shade of sand. No, no, taupe—a kind of khaki, really.”
I poke him in the ribs. “I get it. It doesn’t mean they’re not also pretty.”
“In the eye of the beholder, I guess.”
“Do you ever think about our valley?”
He’s quiet, thinking back to the place that transformed us, gave us our purpose. J.D., Tuck, Tamara, and me—it was just the four of us, for one brief moment. But it was an indelible moment. Each of us holds a special memory of the short time we spent in a green place—a place of color and life and hope.
“I think about it every day,” he says softly. “Every single day, it makes me happy to know it’s there, and it makes me more committed to the work you’re doing. I like to imagine that the land you’ve watered will one day become patches of wildness in the wasteland, little remnant forests or wetlands or grasslands. That will be the start of real healing—a series of small, healthy places that spread, take root.”
The Last Tree Page 14