Writers of the Future Volume 31

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Not everyone in the Colony liked the idea of the Tok evolving to match humans. Many of the adults, including Mother Jean still blamed the recent deaths on the Tok.

  The courtyard had quickly become crowded with adults in their silver enviro suits and plastic helmets, hemming us in. Everyone was talking at once, and the tension was making me uncomfortable. I could feel Vox’s terror, and some of the children were getting upset.

  With a quiet word, I instructed Layfe to take Vox and Botto into the raising room with the lapids and get them fed. I then charged Nona and Simon to get the rest of the kids back to the greenhouse to finish up their chores.

  I don’t think the adults even noticed when they left.

  Someone asked, “So what do we do with them?”

  “Stick ’em in the freezer,” Robert said. This suggestion elicited chuckles from some and horrified looks from the others.

  I couldn’t believe he could even joke about such a thing. “They’re just babies! You can’t mean to hurt them!”

  “They aren’t human, Henrietta,” Bekke said. “They don’t belong here, and I certainly don’t want them in with the children. We don’t know what they’re capable of.”

  “No, no.” Father Isaac held out his hand for calm. His face bore deep lines of worry. “You’re right. We can’t just let them wander around inside the compound.”

  “You can’t take them away from us,” I said. At that moment, I felt as if the whole colony had turned against me.

  Lyle spoke up. “How about they stay in one of the storage sheds? We can set something up so they’ll be comfortable in there, and we can lock it from the outside.”

  He held my gaze and I nodded, smiling.

  Father Isaac agreed. “That’ll work.”

  9

  “Intelligence is based on how efficient a species became at doing the things they need to survive.”

  — Charles Darwin

  Posted in the communal dining hall of the grounded SS Dominion

  Father Isaac suggested we treat the undeniably intelligent Tok as guests, saying we had much to learn from each other.

  For now, interaction was necessarily limited, as the colony was still struggling to recover after the loss of so many, particularly in the power plant and the greenhouses.

  With the adults so busy, they rarely visited the dormitory. The door to the shed was kept unlocked during the day so the Tok could be fed. At this age, much of their waking time was spent eating. I couldn’t see any reason why they couldn’t be fed in the children’s common room during class periods. So I took them there and began showing them the instructional archives.

  They were both eager students, and had an ability to absorb new information with startling speed. I started with a timeline of Earth and moved forward through the different eras, biological classifications, and the evolution and major civilizations of man. The evolution and diversity of our architecture in particular, fascinated them. They seemed particularly drawn to the minarets of eastern Europe, the ziggurats of Mesoamerica, and the grandeur of ancient Rome.

  Within two turns, they were able to manipulate the archives’ computer terminals themselves and direct their own searches. Along with architecture, Vox’s interests ran to Earth’s technology, and biology.

  And space.

  Using a map of the solar system, he pointed out the galaxy where the Tok now lived. The instructional archives referred to it as Kepler 4406.

  Although some aspects of Tok biology and technology mirrored that of humans on Earth, their universe contained different and diverse elements; and neither Vox nor Botto were able to explain the details of their culture’s technology—not at this stage of their development.

  The mind link they shared with their people at this point in their life cycle was one-way. They had access to their own history and culture, as if the events of the past were part of their own memories, but they would not be able to actually converse live with their group mind until they emerged from their next molt as adults.

  Father Isaac gathered new DNA samples from each of them and shared his findings one night at dinner.

  “I have completed a general analysis of tissues gathered from the Tok creatures after their molt and discovered significant changes in their DNA. In the first sample, the comparison between the Lapidis Laruae hatchlings and the Toks indicated their DNA to be 95% identical. But when I tested the samples taken after the metamorphosis, the similarity between the DNA profiles had dropped to about 60%. The DNA conclusively proves the Toks assertion that they are not lapids.”

  The few nods of acceptance around the room were far outnumbered by stony-faced frowns.

  “So what are they?”

  “What do they want?” asked Rae.

  “After spending a good deal of time with them, discussing what they are willing or able to share with us about the Tok, I believe these intelligent creatures are what they say they are: orphans of a past civilization which once thrived on Hesperidee, forced to flee when meteors struck the planet. In addition to their intelligence, they are highly adaptive, and claim a history which predates man. Surprisingly, they seem to have only an ordinary curiosity about us, as merely one of many intelligent species they’ve encountered. They are understandably most concerned with their own safety and survival until they can rejoin their own people.”

  Gratified by Father Isaac’s findings, I gazed around the room, but wasn’t convinced everyone else had the same reaction. Some, like Rae’s mother Jean, and my would-be suitor Robert, seemed to find the idea distasteful.

  “Until we encountered the Tok, man has never encountered a life form with the ability to alter their own genetic code at will. On a whim, I decided to compare their DNA to some human DNA samples. And while the early sample shared only a 40% match with human DNA, this latest sample is an astonishing 90% match with us.”

  A collective gasp filled the room.

  Father Isaac nodded. “Yes. They are altering their DNA to match ours.”

  Mother Flor, the physician, asked the question everyone was thinking. “What does this mean? For us?”

  Father Isaac shook his head. “I’ve asked them individually what they want from us, and they both have the same answer. Their people are a multitude of different physical forms, located on countless different planets, united by a single consciousness. Based on my conversations with them, they seem to consider themselves more advanced than humans. They say they mean us no harm, and ask only for our hospitality until they mature and their ship arrives.”

  Robert jumped to his feet. “Why should we trust them? What if this ship is carrying an invading army? We could all be killed. Or enslaved.” He shook his head. “I don’t like this. They’re a danger to all of us.”

  Everyone started talking at once. Father Isaac asked Mother Bekke to escort all the minors back to the children’s dormitory. I didn’t want to go, but neither Rae nor I were allowed to stay.

  10

  After I tucked the children into their bunks, I started to tell Vox what had happened.

  “We are mind-bonded, Etta. I experienced everything that happened through our bond. Your people fear what they do not understand. ’Umans are no different than other cultures in this regard.”

  Ever since they’d developed the power of speech, both Vox and Botto usually chose to speak their thoughts aloud, even as they were also speaking to us within our minds.

  “I’m worried for you, Vox.” I wrapped my hand around his leathery pincer; not so very different from my three-fingered hand. “I want everyone to love you like I do, but I’m not sure it’s possible.”

  His liquid brown eyes held mine. “The Tok are not enemies of ’umans. Your Father Isaac understands this. You understand this. Some of the others understand this, too. In time, all the ’umans of Dominion Colony will understand. Do not fear.”

  We lay on
the grey sofa-lounge in the common room, watching a documentary on Greek architecture from the instructional archive. Vox had curled up comfortably beneath my arm. When the subject of Greek theatre came up, the video panned over the ruins of the famous theatre of antiquity, the Odeon of Herodes Atticus.

  “What is fiction, Etta? Is it true or imagination?”

  He’d asked me this question several times previously. The concepts of fiction and drama were aspects of human culture the Tok had trouble understanding. With the history of their civilization stored in their memories, they had no need to tell stories. They remembered.

  They understood facts, history, science, and even art, but the idea that a recorded event was intentionally not true seemed beyond their grasp.

  I tried a different approach. “Fiction is a story. Story is narration about things that might have happened about people who might have once lived. A story can be used as an example to illustrate a lesson or evoke an emotion. It may or may not be true, but it feels true. It feels real.”

  “So, fiction is imagination.”

  “Well, yes, but it’s more than that.” I had a sudden inspiration. I instructed the archive to bring up Shakespeare.

  “Ah yes. The playwright.”

  I nodded. “A play is a fiction told by actors. It illustrates a story through their actions.” I sat up, excited to share my most secret pleasure with him.

  “This is Romeo and Juliet. It is one of Shakespeare’s most famous plays, and my favorite.” The archive contained dozens of performances, some recorded centuries earlier. I’d seen them all, many, many times. I knew all the scenes by heart.

  Fearing he might not understand the original dialog, I selected one of the modern interpretations.

  He watched the video in silence, only occasionally glancing at me.

  “Why are you crying, Etta?”

  “I always cry in this part.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “He loves her so much; when he thinks she is dead, he would rather die than live the rest of his life without her. And then, when she wakes and finds him dead, she feels exactly the same way.” I sniffed. “It is beautiful. It is a tragedy. I cannot imagine loving anyone that much.”

  “But this is not true. This is fiction.”

  “Yes, but it could happen. It might have happened. It’s a dramatization. Fiction mirrors life. It is a story you want to believe is true. It feels true, and I believe there are people who experience that kind of love. I wish, I mean, sometimes I wonder what that would be like. To love someone like that.”

  His face held little expression, but I sensed his inner struggle to understand. “You would die for love?”

  I shook my head. “For me, something like that could never happen. Dominion Colony is my here-and-now. My life is already set in place. I accept that the love I experience will be that of a mother for her children. My responsibility is to preserve the human race through my children. But on Earth, in that time or some other time, yes, it might happen.”

  “And that love makes you sad?”

  I thought of Gehnny and the other children who had died, and how much I missed them, every single day. “If I could have given my life to save Gehnny’s, I would have. The love for a child is unending.”

  “I feel you yearning for this other kind of love. The love of Juliet and Romeo. Yet you say it is fiction.”

  “To love someone so completely that you would give up everything, and to have that love returned with equal passion, is a beautiful idea. I cannot imagine a romantic love as powerful as the love between a mother and child, but this story moves me. It makes me believe it is possible. I think most humans who see this play feel the same way. That is the power of fiction.”

  “Show me more. I want to understand why ’umans want fiction. What is this fascination with what-might-be-but-is-not?”

  We viewed Midsummer Night’s Dream, Hamlet, and then he wanted to see Romeo and Juliet again. This time, I selected a version which preserved Shakespeare’s original dialog. To my surprise, he gripped my hand tightly in the most moving scenes. Afterward, he seemed subdued.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Who do you love, Etta?”

  “In Dominion, we’re taught to love everyone equally.” I said the words lightly, but my throat caught. No one had ever asked me that kind of question before. “We love each other and are dedicated to saving the human race, which is more important than romantic love. It’s more important than anything. Nothing else matters.”

  “I think it matters to you.”

  I blushed. I had no secrets from Vox. “Maybe. Yes. But that’s just wishing.”

  11

  “We are always slow in admitting any great change of which we do not see the intermediate steps.”

  —Charles Darwin, On Natural Selection

  From the instructional archives of the grounded SS Dominion

  The next morning I went to see Father Isaac. The humming of the DNA purification and extraction units, which I recognized from my previous visits, sent gentle vibrations through the floor as I passed them on the way to Father Isaac’s office.

  His lab, two levels above the communal dining hall, was easily as large as the children’s dormitory. The entire space was contained within a single open room. Clear partitions divided the lab into six separate work areas, several of which held an intent scientist conducting experiments or recording their results in the instructional archive.

  In his office, I perched on the edge of my seat, our knees almost touching. One wall was covered with built-in, now mostly defunct electronic displays and equipment, once used to monitor atmospheric conditions in space, now repurposed to monitor the weather conditions in the Colony and its surroundings. In one corner, a model of a double helix DNA strand twisted its way toward the ceiling.

  “Good morning, Ettie. I don’t often get a voluntary visit from one of you kids. How can I help you?”

  “I want to know why I was asked to leave the discussion last night.”

  “We didn’t want you to be unnecessarily upset. We all know how you kids feel about Vox and Botto. People expressed their opinions, but no decision has been made. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  I sighed. “You announce that I am a woman, but then you send me from the room when the discussion is about something which affects me the most.”

  He pressed his lips together, but said nothing.

  My pulse pounded in my ears. I’d been wanting to ask this question for a long time. “Am I sterile? If I am, I have the right to know.”

  “I wish I had the answer for you, Ettie.” He sounded reluctant to say more. “I believe something in the planet’s flora or in the soil is the cause of the divergence in your blood work. I’m working to isolate the culprit and remove it from the environment. Hopefully, it’s only temporary. We’ll have to wait and see. I’m sorry.”

  Divergence. The word sent a stab of fear into my heart. “Why isn’t it affecting Rae? What if I’m sterile?”

  “We don’t know that for certain yet. Don’t worry, Ettie. You’ve done a fine job taking care of the children. I don’t see why anything would have to change.”

  He leaned forward in his chair and patted my knee. “Conception is only one small part of the equation. We don’t know if any of you kids will be able to conceive, much less deliver a healthy child. We’ve celebrated more than a hundred pregnancies over the last twenty-five years.” He shook his head. “But so few of you survived infancy.”

  “There are only nine of us now. It’s not enough, is it?”

  “That’s why it’s so important for you to continue your bonding efforts with Lyle. If there’s any possibility.…”

  “I don’t have those kinds of feelings for Lyle. It’s not going to work. You’ve got Rae now, anyway. What do you need me for?” I hadn’t intended to sound so bitter.
>
  “Don’t give up, Daughter. It’s only been a few weeks. That virus threw us all for a tumble. I do believe that the presence of male testosterone will eventually make a difference. We must make sure we pursue every avenue. I realize you’re not very happy about Lyle courting you, but the whole colony is depending on you.” He touched his finger to the tip of my nose. “Be the good example we all know you to be. The future of humanity is depending on you.”

  12

  “Is love a tender thing?”

  —William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

  From the instructional archives of the grounded SS Dominion

  Later, when Lyle asked me to go exploring with him, I told him I didn’t feel well.

  “Nothing serious,” I assured him. “Just a stomach ache.”

  Which was true, but it wasn’t as severe as I’d made out. My lower back had been bothering me: I felt bloated and uncomfortable. But instead of spending the afternoon on my bunk, I wanted to take the hovership out on my own.

  The very idea thrilled and terrified me. Six months ago, I never would have considered touching any of the colony’s equipment without permission. Of course, six months ago, there had never been a reason to ask such a thing, but I couldn’t stop worrying about Vox.

  Both of the Tok had grown a lot in the past few weeks. Vox now stood almost to my shoulder, and Botto was only slightly smaller. They’d gained girth as well, and both weighed close to sixty pounds.

  The lapids had gone torpid two days earlier, a phase which generally lasted about a month. If allowed to emerge from their cocoons, they would be fully formed, poisonous and nasty-tempered adults; incredibly dangerous, and hard to kill.

  Instead, after two weeks, we would humanely move them into the freezers onboard the Dominion. Lapid meat was considered by many to be a sweet, light-tasting delicacy, rich in protein.

  I worried about what might happen when the Tok went dormant. Robert and Mother Jean especially had been outspoken in their desire to add the Tok pupae to the freezers as well. Robert kept telling people there was no way to tell how the Tok would evolve in this dormancy period; they could very well emerge every bit as dangerous as the lapids.