by Billy Roper
A Century After The Balk…
His dog-eared copy of ‘Founding Father’s Son’ lay across the 2100 A.D. centennial translation of the Holy Bible, approved by the Church of Israel, on the plasteel bulkhead’s shelf. The two official government publications were mandatory, but Thomas Jefferson McNabb was the kind of old-fashioned moderate who preferred to keep the volumes separate, rather than combined as the stricter denominations published them, these days. He also let his wives wear jewelry, in reform fashion.
Aside from his Great Grandfather’s biography and the scripture, T.J. didn’t own any other print books. The collected libraries of human history were available on demand as neural downloads, even for Organics like himself. If, like millions of others, he was willing to surrender his Numircan citizenship and undergo GeMO-therapy for the off-world colonies, memory enhancement was one of the several mutative options available. Extended life spans were another. But everything came with a cost.
For the colonies which required a greater phenotypic shift from the Organic base norm, of course, post-vitro mods were prohibitively expensive and complicated. The system-wide celebrity and dynastic heir-apparent had his niche in life chiseled out for himself before he was conceived, the old fashioned way. T.J. could no more have been preborn a Troll with a skeletal structure engineered to survive the gravity well of Bol’Shoy on Kepteyn b, or a Gill able to breathe the atmosphere on Gliese 832 c, than he could have been born an Asian. Of course, both of those colonies were a half a lifetime’s flight away. The kids born with those mods had plenty of time to grow to maturity at half light speed before they arrived in the new worlds. There, they would be norm. And their children, both parents being of a genotype, would inherit the adaptations, as well, since their DNA had been rewritten at code level.
Royal and Noble families of Citizen and Taxpayer status were allowed unregulated reproductive privileges, but the Resident and Lumpen classes were eugenically matched to continue the Ethnicity Resegregation Initiatives which had been legislated by his grandfather, just before the Northern and Western Hemispheric Anschluss Union.
First Citizen McNabb often sat a bit apart from his security at the Martyr’s Park bench by the ancestral fountain, to savor the illusion of anonymity. He could watch the clusters of Celtic red-heads and blonde Nords and round-faced Slavs maneuvering around one another like schools of differently colored tropical fish, with smaller pods of darker Med and Alp subethnics darting in and out. Government run schools weren’t ethnically segregated, yet, but the academic courses were customized to suit the different inherited personality types and proclivities of the subraces. Higher order math and physics for Nords, physical arts for the Meds, language arts for Celts, sanitation engineering for the Slavs.
This morning, he had explained the diversification process to his son, G.W., again. The alabaster nine year old had ran in, winded from climbing a tree with the other boys who all felt like super-heroes in the lunar colony’s low gravity, to ask why his friend Jimmy’s big sister had to “marry a boy who looked like her”.
T.J. had laughed. “Well, son, you’ve studied natural selection in Biology class, right?” He knew the human teacher, as he did the rest of his son’s instructors and their holographic simulacra. The AI programs augmented entry level courses and provided review.
“Um, Yes, Sir. Kinda.” George Washington McNabb said, hesitantly. He was more a people person than a focused student.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to test you, buddy,” his dad reassured him, cutting up an apple and handing it to the boy, one slice at a time. He tried to stay serious and hide his smile. The hydroponic apple was gene spliced with strawberry codes and the size of his fist, grown square for ease of transport.
“Don’t choke on that. Okay, here goes. All species differentiate, they specialize, within themselves, as different bloodlines within the bigger overall group develop different inherited traits, right? Like the pigeons, some became gray and could hide in the smog and survive, while the white ones got seen by the hawks and eaten?”
“I remember,” G.W. said, munching away on the appleberry. He had seen holos of pigeons, and there were examples of live cloned birds in the zoo habitat at school.
“And, remember that some of those specializations are the result of climactic or other environmental adaptations, and some are accidental, and some are on purpose? The ones on purpose, we call ‘eugenics’?”
“Like the Trolls?” the youngster asked, wide-eyed. He had forgotten his appleberry slices for a moment. Trolls looked like monsters, but they were necessary, in their place. They scared him.
“Yes, like the Trolls. So, the way that natural selection works is that the different sub-groups, or sub-species, within a species, all compete for territory and resources, to see which of them is the best adapted, the most fit, and has the best physical and mental traits needed to survive, right?”
“That’s what our teacher said. She says that’s why she has blue eyes,” the boy contributed. Finally, the last appleberry wedge disappeared.
“Well, she’s right. But remember, that’s her AI, not your teacher. And the best suited, most favored, subspecies wins the natural selection contest. And what happens to the other subspecies, the other races, son? Remember?
“They go extinct. Like dark-skinned people,” G.W. answered. “So, that’s natural?” They didn’t have any nonWhite humans in the zoo habitat, but he had seen the holos of them, too.
“Sure, it’s natural. You see, multiracialism, having more than one race mix together and especially to interbreed, well, that destroys the true diversity, the real genetic and inherited differences between different population groups, that nature requires for the natural selection process to continue. See?”, his dad emphasized.
“Just like I made my appleberry gone? It’s extinct!” the royal heir asked.
“Kind of, but even worse, because instead of just being gone, what’s left is neither the same subspecies or race as the mother or the father. Like if there no more apples and strawberries on their own. And all of the tens of thousands of years, or even longer, of adapting and evolving and adding recessive genes, is gone, buried in the more primitive, less evolved dominant genes, reverted back to the base form. All the hard work and sacrifices of all their generations of ancestors is lost, undone. Do you remember what ‘recessive’ means?” the patient father asked.
“It means newer, more recent, more advanced, right? Like the sharp edge of the knife you used to cut the appleberry, dad?”
“Very good. And if that edge is lost, blunted, if the most recent, most advanced, recessive genes are buried by mixing them back with the dominant, less advanced, less recent forms, like mixing recessive blue eyes with dominant brown eyes, …well, it’s a step backward for the human species.”
“Hot pipe! I get it. So, why does she have to marry a boy who looks like her?” G.W. queried, trying to see the whole picture. It was almost there, but a little fuzzy around the edges. Science was hard, for a kid his age who’d rather be skimming the solar waves on his hoveride.
His dad smiled, ruffling his son’s golden hair. “Because, once all of the subspecies, or races, except for one have become extinct, the one surviving race becomes the new de facto species, son. Then the whole process of differentiation and specialization and competition between groups as a part of the ongoing natural selection process continues. The different ethnicities within that race become the new de facto races within the new de facto species. Like that knife edge, it’s a continual honing process, to keep us, humanity, constantly improving… sharpening, evolving into something greater, and better. That’s God’s design. His will is for us to constantly improve ourselves as individuals and ourselves collectively as His children, through the process He created.”
“So, God wants them to get married?” the fifth grader wondered. That would be easier to explain to his buddy.
“You could say that. By marrying and having babies with people who are like us ge
netically, our own race and even our own ethnicity, we help to re-sort out the new species, and establish different races within the new species, who will compete with each other to see which is most fit. It just keeps going, forever, it has to, or we fall backwards.” came the considered response.
“Oh,” a light bulb came on. “So, what about the Trolls and Gills and the others? Are they new races, too?”
“Yes, they are, and they’re almost new species, already. Genetically, they’ve been modified so far away from the base, that they almost aren’t genetically compatible with Organics like you and me any more. Kind of like donkeys and horses make mules that are sterile, right?”
“That’s good.” the boy said, thoughtfully, wrinkling up his nose. “I’ve seen pictures of Troll girls, they’re uuuuuuuugggggggglllllllllyyyyyyyyyy!”
“Probably they wouldn’t be if you were a Troll boy, though,” T.J. noted, grinning. His son made an exaggerated gagging noise. He knew Trolls hadn’t happened naturally through evolution. Organic people like himself had made them happen, on purpose. Sometimes nature needed a helping hand to guide it, or a kick to speed it up.
“So, do they hafta?” the interrogation boiled down to. The father emphatically shook his head.
“No, son, nobody has to follow the reproductive laws. Or God’s laws, even. There are tax write-offs for those who do, and family subsidies if you fit certain genetic criteria…certain standards. But anyone who doesn’t want to live by our laws, can leave. They can take off with whomever they want, even, together, if they both decide to.”
“Where do people like that go, daddy?” his son’s pale eyebrows rose, imagining outlaws running off, hand in hand. Losing everything and everyone they knew, for the sake of rebellion.
“Well, down in the Republic of Texas, people just have kids with whatever featherless biped they want to, willy-nilly. Even in Deseret, they generally marry anybody their church approves of. Usually more than one, at that. So, they’re welcome there, too, if they convert.”
“What about on the other colonies? Do they follow birthing laws?”, G.W. asked. He looked up, past the lunar dome, towards the stars. He was thinking of anyone but a Troll marrying a Troll.
“Of course ours do, but like in Texas and Argentina and Deseret, some of the European orbital platforms and new colony worlds don’t. At least not yet. A couple of them even allow homosexuals to marry.”
“That’s vertigoer than Trolls!” the young boy exclaimed. He had absorbed his Purity Spiral lessons well enough to know that the Libertarian colonies where that was legal were under sanctions by the rest of humanity and its successor subspecie.
“I guess that means that our way of doing things is competing with theirs, too, to see which is best, huh, dad?” Little did he know that competition on a galactic level included resource embargo and military quarantine, but his father enforced those policies in the strictest means.
“Right. And we’ll let God decide which way is truly His will, son. That’s all we can do, is leave it in His hands.” He didn’t mention that like nature, God also used Organics as His tools to do His will and fulfill His plan.
That gave his son something to think about while he ran back outside to climb up into that moon tree again and explain things to his friend. Like boys everywhere for all time, after a few minutes their talk turned to play, and the grunts and squeals of an old fashioned game of “Nords and Muds” could be heard throughout the domes. They reverted back to the youthful slang that most adults could barely decipher, but which they only used together and informally, not with their parents, usually.
It was difficult for anyone, of any age, to come to grips with the understanding that at long last, a portion of humanity had control over its own destiny, and held its own future in its hands. Even for the Speaker. Finally, there was a rope over the abyss, and only eyes such as his could see what awaited on the other side. Man was something which was being overcome. While science had handed him the power to manipulate the intelligence levels and personality types and physical attributes of the next generation, he would not. The responsibility of the higher man was to sort them out, and let God and His nature judge.
It had taken years, nearly a decade, for the nuclear energy of the regathered and reconcentrated Aryans of North America to combine their populations and resources through trade and military confederations, leading to the alliance of post-Balk ethnostates which pushed outwards again and rolled back over the lost areas of the continent in the Reclamation Crusades.
The withdrawal of Pre-Numircan liberalism from Europe with the collapse of the old United States had allowed Nationalist governments to rise to power in that continent, and they had cleansed their countries of the foreign invaders and eventually of their offspring, too. Finishing up the task from Reykjavik to Rome had required Numircan biomedical ingenuity and the same application of genetically targeted viruses that had finally driven the Sinos back to Asia, however. That took time. And, the losses from crossover contagion through mixed race hybrid persons serving as carriers into certain White communities in both Europe and Numirca had been devastating numerically, even if they were beneficial eugenically.
Officially, up to a quarter of southern Europe had been depopulated due to their admixture’s susceptibility to the viruses, and a fifth of the Eastern part of the continent’s. Genetic warfare targeted at Arabs and Asians and Africans had eliminated virtually all of the world’s Jews, as well, including millions whose ancestors had converted or changed their names to live in hiding generations previously. The same thing had happened in Numirca, a few years earlier, so it hadn’t really been that much of a surprise for anyone except those who didn’t know about their nonWhite ancestry until they started getting sick.
Those Whites who had from 95%-100% White ancestry rarely suffered any illness from the widespread dispersal of the genetic warfare weapons globally, once mass production had made its dissemination possible. Some in the 90%-95% range became sick, but recovered following blood transfusions from Whiter donors. Many of the survivors in that border range became sterile, however. Those who did not were sterilized as a precaution, humanely.
Once it became clear that almost all people with less than 90% European ancestry were dying in a manner which combined the virulence of the common flu with the fatality level of the ebola virus, nonWhite governments had begun attempting health measures of increasingly drastic measures. While their scientists wasted time trying to create a counter-virus which would target Whites, Chinese officials ordered all international flights and shipping to end, bringing a stop to their remaining economic life which had just begun to recover from the loss of the pre-Numircan consumer market. Chinese United Nations peacekeeping forces, blocked from returning home, had mutinied as they died by the tens of thousands. Some of them hijacked ships and planes and brought the viral contagion home with them, infecting the Sino homeland. Even worse for Asia, though, was when the Chinese scientists released their own weapon, an attempt which struck down their own best and brightest before it could be targeted at Numirca.
Unfortunately for their plan, the most intelligent East Asians had still carried up to fifteen percent Tocharian ancestry, from the ancient Whites who had brought the first textiles, metallurgy, and the domestication of the horse to northern China. It was they who had been the creators of ancient Chinese civilization, and their descendants had remained its most prominent inventors and innovators until their own genetic research struck them down.
Ironically, a similar fate awaited India, when her most advanced medical researchers, those with the highest degree of Aryan ancestry from the high caste descendants of long-dead White conquerors there, also attempted a viral weaponization targeting of Europeans during the second year of the global pandemic. Other Indian scientists, with less martial motives, did succeed in creating a counter-viral remedy which saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of their countrymen through an emergency vaccination program. It, too, had left all the survivors ste
rile, however. At least, that’s how the history holos told it. The Speaker knew that it hadn’t been quite that easy or clean, much less quick.
The Reclamation Crusades had required mobilization of all of the White ethnostates in what would become Numirca, blitzkrieging outwards in the aftermath of the bioplagues to take advantage of the weakened defenders and wrest back control over areas which had been too diverse for Whites to hold onto only a few years earlier. In reality, there had been a certain number of natural immunes, as well as areas where the aerosol dispersal and groundwater addition methods hadn’t provided complete population saturation. There had been hard fighting along both coasts, for example, in pockets of resistance, before the last nonWhite areas had been cleansed.
His father, Speaker before him, had seen the last living nonWhites, exhibitions maintained in small habitats as cautionary tales to ward off lingering White sympathy while the rest of the planet was being won. Every school child had taken field trips to see how bestial they were without White influence, back then. T.J. had heard the stories from his father, but there was no need to repeat them to his own son. All of the DNA samples of non Homo Sapiens Europaeus humans had been carefully catalogued and neutralized, to prevent any future misguided attempts to clone them back into existence. With the exception of some scattered and rare trace ancestry, they were as extinct as the dinosaurs, even more so, in that they were never coming back.
Even the Aborigines of Australia and every identifiable AmerIndian tribe had been sampled and catalogued, prior to euthanization. He found it hard to believe that even after the war, some White liberals had protested the liquidation of nonWhites in places like Christchurch and Portland. Another bit of history not commonly taught in classrooms was the fact of how many renegade Whites had to be liquidated in reconquered areas, as well, throughout Numirca and Europe.
The Earth’s population had, in less than a decade, bottlenecked from 7.7 billion down to less than a billion, due to the bioplague viruses, disease and starvation, and conventional and nuclear warfare. Cloning of a few thousand of the most exemplary models of Nordicism, along with vitro lab mass fertilization programs, had doubled that number back to about two billion in a generation’s time. At nine, his son wasn’t quite ready yet to understand that he himself was a clone of his grandfather, as was his father, as was his friend of his own ancestor. First children always were, so the eldest could insure the family bloodline directly, while subsequent children in a household were born naturally or in vitro labs as the children of both parents. T.J. had twenty-eight half brothers and thirty-one half sisters. Most of them, knowing they would not inherit, had joined the colonists in expanding orbital platforms and colonies beyond his home on the moon, just as younger children had always done, traditionally. Of course, his father had had six wives and eleven concubines to bear that many live births and contribute the eggs for the vitro labs. That seemed excessive by today’s less desperate time’s standards. T.J. himself only had five women at home, three of them wedlocked. His son might even be monogamous, if he chose, so long as he produced an heir and a few subalterns.