use. It’s my aim to get this vessel up and running. Then we’ll
have five ships, and we can make a good accounting of ourselves
when the DPs come.”
“Can we even understand the systems, sir?” Rex asked. “This
technology far surpasses what we’re used to.”
The older commander turned to him. Behind the reflected
glimmer on the curved faceplate, Rex could see his frown. “Just
because you don’t have any balls, doesn’t mean you don’t have
any brains. I’m counting on you to figure this out, Rex. It’s the
only way we can survive.”
Rex didn’t think they would survive in any case, but he made
no further comment. The other newts waited to receive
instructions.
After they broke into the Dutchman, the salvagers separated
into teams and methodically moved from deck to deck. They
discovered the iron-hard bodies of six DC soldiers, expressions
frozen as if surprised that a tiny group of isolationists had fought
so bitterly against their impressive ship. Two of Heron’s men let
out defiant cries of triumph; the others were queasy and silent.
The newts were put on corpse detail, gathering and ejecting the
dead soldiers. They didn’t mind.
On the bridge, Commander Heron and his men studied the
dead ship’s systems. Rex stepped up to the engine controls and
navigation modules, and peered down to read the labels on each
station. He knew how to fix familiar systems—recyclers,
irrigators, and lighting—but these looked different.
“Don’t just stand there and make this place crowded,” Heron
said. “Not much time left!” The other newts spread out and began
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to make repairs.
With so many unknown factors, the Worthies had no way of
determining exactly when the retaliatory ships would arrive.
After receiving distress signals from the battle in the rings six
months ago, Earth should have taken at least a month to gather a
new fleet, which would take five or more months in transit. But
if the DC military had modified their engines, improved their
speed or fuel efficiency, they could fly to Saturn more swiftly
than expected.
By any calculation, the DPs could be here any day.
Rex used a circuit mapper and command-train isolator to
check the station panels, one row after another. He documented
which modules were functional and which needed to be routed
around or replaced. Even if the Dutchman were completely
repaired, though, the new DC ships were bound to be far
superior.
That first engagement had been unintentional, at least on
Earth’s part. The Democratic Progressives had sent an
exploratory force through the solar system, mapping resources,
choosing possible locations for new colonies and outposts.
“It’s what so-called ‘progressives’ do,” Ardet had said in a
speech to every member of the Worthy colony. “They spread,
and exploit, and take what they want. We cannot let them steal
our homes! We dare not let them disrupt our grand experiment.
We must prove the strength of our principles.” His voice grew
deeper and more powerful; it had been so stirring that Rex found
himself moved in spite of the implant. “The DPs are barbarians—
they will pillage, and rape, and destroy everything we hold dear!”
The Worthy men had howled, the women had cringed, and
the newts had listened carefully. The men gathered every
possible ship, cobbled together anything that could be used as a
weapon, then set an ambush in the rings to protect their way of
life.
The DC exploratory force had come to Saturn with escort
ships and scientific vessels, intending to use the plentiful ice in
the rings to replenish their fuel and water supplies. Rex had
studied the records of their arrival, and (as far as he could tell)
the DPs had taken no aggressive action; it seemed possible that
they hadn’t even known about the tiny hidden colony. But fiery-
eyed Ardet called it an incursion, a criminal trespass by
plunderers. After overcoming birth pains and terrible difficulties,
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the colony had begun to thrive, exactly according to the design.
They wanted nothing to do with the people of Earth.
The DC scientists and pilots were astonished when the
Worthy men attacked. Though the DC exploratory fleet was not
a military force, they had fought back, killing most of the young
men and Ardet Hollings himself before being destroyed
themselves.
“Nothing here we can’t fix,” Commander Heron said,
rapping on the arm of the captain’s chair. “We can get the
Dutchman flying again!” He looked around the bridge as if
expecting the newts to cheer, but they continued their tasks with
silent efficiency. He turned to Rex. “You. You’re Ardet’s own
son. Doesn’t anything get you riled up?”
Rex shrugged in his bulky suit. “That’s not possible, sir.” He
reset a panel and was gratified to see that all systems were now
functional. “But I do my job to the best of my abilities. Is there
something inadequate about my performance?”
Discouraged, the commander let out a long sigh that was
audible across the helmet radio. “We won’t be able to last five
minutes against the forces from Earth.”
*
Back at his familiar work in the greenhouse domes,
comfortable with the routine despite the imminent arrival of the
DPs, Rex was glad to be doing something worthwhile. “There is
no more glorious work than providing food for our people,”
Ardet had said to all greenhouse workers. And since Rex also
worked on the illumination and irrigation systems, he felt he was
doing even more than his part. It gave him a warm satisfaction to
know he fit in so well.
Overhead, bright stars and outlying ring fragments moved
like fireflies. Some of the women harvesting produce looked up
nervously, as if expecting them to be braking jets from Earth
ships; Rex saw only lovely lights as bright as diamonds.
He hummed a tuneless song to relax himself, though the
implant did most of the job. Crews of newts and women picked
ripe vegetables and fruits, never letting anything go to waste. The
recycled air smelled fresh, moist, mulchy. Overhead lamps
poured out warm, buttery light to nourish the plants. Coming
around the gauzy limb of Saturn, the sun also rose, adding its
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distant light and life. Bees transported from Earth buzzed around
the flowers, sexless drones doing their work for the betterment
of the hive.
Two years ago, encouraged by his father, Rex had improved
the hydroponic trays and then the nutrient-delivery irrigators in
the planted rows. Now he drew a deep breath and sighed as he
looked out at the colorful pat
terns of growth, all the shades of
green. Each species was planted in the proper order for optimal
food production, everything in its place, everything productive.
Ardet Hollings had been such a genius.
Rex ruffled his fingers through the velvety leaves of
enhanced strawberries. Ripe and red, they would make a sweet
dessert; perhaps Mother would serve some tonight. She had been
more extravagant with her cooking in the past few weeks, as if
to reassure everyone that nothing was wrong.
As he moved the leaves aside, Rex spotted a darting lizard.
The original colonists had brought no large animals with them
from Earth, but along with the bees they had released numerous
small animals such as birds, shrews, and tiny lizards. The birds
and rodents had died; only the lizards had survived, and thrived,
finding an entire ecological niche for themselves.
Rex tried to catch it, but he wasn’t quick enough. The lizard
vanished among the strawberry plants, showing only a flicker of
a tail that was a different color—obviously broken off and then
regrown. Lizards had that amazing regenerative ability. Rex
went back to his work picking the berries.
In the beginning, Worthies had planted only the fastest
growing and highest-energy-density foods, then used
reprocessing chemistry to break down even the waste vegetation
into edible mass. They’d had nothing else to eat. Because of
Ardet’s innovative survival measures, that crisis had passed
when Rex was just a child, and now the Worthies had the luxury
and the inclination to plant decorative flowers and ornamental
shrubs from stored genetic samples.
This place had become a home instead of just a subsistence
colony. But it wouldn’t last.
In their fourth year away from Earth, one of the three primary
greenhouses had failed; a piece of rogue stony debris thrown
from an impact in the rings had sailed at high velocity into the
armored dome, shattering several panes and hemorrhaging
atmosphere. Most of the air was gone, the temperature plunged,
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the greenhouse sent into an unstable wobble. Seven people died,
and all the plants perished—one third of the crops to feed the
settlement. Adding to the disaster, a blight had swept through the
corn crop in one of the other greenhouses, decimating that
harvest as well.
On the relatively new colony, their survival had already been
hanging by a thread. Most of their preserved supplies were
already gone. Devastated by the loss, the Worthies watched their
perfectly planned future crumble. Though workers scrambled to
build another greenhouse dome and create subsidiary growing
areas, they faced the very real prospect of dying—or returning,
beaten, to repressive Earth.
Ardet rallied them. “Return is never an option! We have
fought too hard to establish a perfect society. I have provided the
road map. Do we dare take our children back to that hellhole?
How could we betray them in such a way?” He had lifted his
young son Rex for all his followers to see. Now, when Rex
watched the tapes and studied his father’s words, he was glad
that in his small way he had helped Ardet make his point. “We
have given our citizens their places, defined their roles, offered
them security instead of cultural pandemonium. Men and women
fill the niches for which they were bred, without the confusion of
too much freedom and too many pressures.” It was a famous
speech that all students were required to memorize. In the
recording, the people were bleak, gaunt and hollow-eyed—with
fear, as much as from hunger.
After the greenhouse failure, knowing they would barely
have enough to eat for the next few years, Ardet had assessed the
big picture and repainted his grand social landscape. “As
Worthies, we must watch ourselves. We did not ask for an easy
life, nor will we ever have one. Our population must always be
carefully controlled. We will grow, and we will triumph, but out
here we must do it in a properly planned fashion. This is not
Earth.”
“Peace, despite hardship,” the crowd had mumbled.
“Thus, for the time being, we must stabilize our population.
We must shore up our society, keep our roles intact, keep our
people happy. We cannot have strife, nor can we have
uncontrolled breeding. Thus, as a gesture to strengthen all of us
in our resolve, we must make sure that no more than two children
in each family will reproduce.”
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This announcement had been met with dismay, since
Worthies had, until now, been encouraged to have large families
in order to increase their numbers. The people muttered. “Most
of us already have more children than that, Ardet. Do you …
want us to kill them?” someone asked from the audience.
Watching that interchange over and over, Rex was sure that the
questioner would have done it, if Ardet had asked.
Their leader shook his head and gave a broad, paternal smile.
“Of course not. We love our children. They are the building
blocks of our great society. But, we must use them with great
care, to a noble purpose.” Ardet had looked at them all with his
intense visionary glare. “While I am confident we have the
strength to survive, this crisis is only an example of our possible
tribulations. By our own design, we are in a new situation here
at Saturn. We came to escape the anarchy and gluttony of Earth,
and to do that we must change ourselves … and that is a good
thing, though it will be hard.
“For this generation, we must take interim measures.
Difficult measures, but vital ones. After the first two children,
our extra sons and daughters will remain important parts of our
perfect society, but they will also make the sacrifice so that we
can remain strong and stable.” He had looked at them all. Rex
still felt a chill when he recalled the historical tapes. “They must
be neutered.”
As an educated adult, when Rex considered the details of the
solution, he didn’t think the mathematics worked out. Neutering
the additional children had not decreased the number of mouths
to feed. But, as became clear later, that had only been the first
part of Ardet’s brilliant plan. Using the greenhouse accident as a
springboard, he had led his people past another watershed,
pushed his new society to an entirely new level.
Because he was their leader, because his followers would do
anything he asked, they had not argued. To show his sincerity,
Ardet had won their hearts by offering up his own young son as
the first to be castrated. Rex was told again and again what a
great thing he was doing, though being only four years old at the
time he had understood nothing about what was really being
taken from him.
After a la
rge group of children was neutered and properly
raised—girls as well as boys—Ardet had quietly revealed his
deeper motivation to create an entire layer of society without
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aggression, without destructive competitiveness. Newts were
cooperative and friendly, productive, and completely reliable, if
not ambitious; the boys being the most prominently changed.
The castration itself was not sufficient for Ardet’s purpose,
though. With carefully metered implants, the newts remained on
an even emotional footing, causing no trouble. Each family was
allowed two viable children, and the rest became a new caste, the
strong and stable foundation for a great Worthy civilization. Rex
had listened to the rationales over and over. He thought it was
breathtaking.…
Now, as Rex and the newts continued their work in the
greenhouse, the women reacted to a signal piped in over the
dissemination channel. The words were spoken in a crisp voice
with just a tinge of fear. “An outpost on the fringe of the outer
ring has picked up radio chatter, and long-distance sensors have
just discovered the Earth military force on its way. The
Democratic Progressives will arrive at the rings of Saturn within
a week, two at the most.”
Hearing this, Rex missed his brothers more than ever. He had
never understood them, but he loved them nevertheless. In their
youth, Lee and Ian had fought and wrestled with each other, so
full of life. Fairly bursting with energy, they had always
exhausted their little brother. They had tried to include Rex in
their roughhousing play, but even as a boy he had never enjoyed
it—due more to the implant than the actual neutering. What if he
had been more like them?
As he finished filling his container with strawberries, Rex
looked up through the transparent dome. He thought about Jen,
desperate for him to be something he wasn’t, then felt sorry for
Ann and her little boy. For their sakes, he tried to imagine
himself in a Worthy soldier’s uniform. What if it came down to
that?
Would he grab a projectile repeater rifle and stand at the
habitat doorway with Mother, Ann, and Jen behind him?
Snarling, would he point the hot barrel of the weapon toward
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