The Chromosome Game (12 page)

‘Some other time, Trell. Main thing is, lay off the hardware. For the present, anyway.’

‘Krand, from talking first to Eagle and now to you it seems I’ve been —’

‘— Trell, mind if I say something personal?’

‘You know I don’t.’

‘Reason you’re missing things is because you’re growing up faster than the rest of us. You have a woman.’

‘Yes. Fourteen. But a woman. You known we haven’t —’

‘— Trell for Pete’s sake! It’s not my business and also I know Kelda is a deep one. A lot of us practically worship her, you know that? … She looks after people. Even people she doesn’t like. Flek got hit in the balls this afternoon at the nets —’

‘— I’ll bet Scorda was pitching —’

‘So you are aware of Scorda’s hygienic little mind?’

‘I’m aware of his style as a pitcher, let’s put it that way.’

‘Trell, let’s put it another way … Kelda doesn’t like Scorda
or
Flek; but Flek, like a lot of people, is scared of those auto-nurses. Who does he run to? Kelda. She wouldn’t examine him alone, she calls the twins in and tells them — real nice! — to be serious for a change and she gets me in there too. It was amazing how Sakini and Inikas fell naturally into the role of nurses … Honest, I didn’t know anyone could ever stop those two from giggling. Anyway Kelda was as dispassionate as the auto-matron but a heck of a lot more gentle. She makes Fleck strip off, and sure enough he has a rotten-great bruise on his crotch.

‘Trell, you should have
seen
the way she acted. Like a vet with a calf. So much understanding it’s incredible, I mean, Flek starts to get —’

‘— Look, I don’t think I want to hear this.’

Krand could be surprisingly gentle. ‘What you’re hearing about, Trell, is Kelda’s compassion and total innocence. It’s just amazing.’

‘Flek doesn’t act toward Kelda like any damn calf.’

‘Don’t disappoint me, Trell. Kelda hardly thinks that Flek is in your league. Cool off. Okay?’

‘Okay … So who fixed this oddball friendship between Scorda and this Sladey creature? — I mean, is that what Eagle was onto when he mentioned the computer to me yesterday?’

‘Check.’

Why? I thought the Controller was —’

‘— on our side?’

Trell held back a second. ‘But that means there are two sides. Can’t be right.’

‘Then why do you think Nembrak and Eagle and me … Why do you think we need to start thinking about leadership?’

‘If you want a leader then whoever leads should be elected.’

‘By kids? By babes-in-arms who can be fixed-up to think anything they like by computer? Some of them don’t even know what time it is, couldn’t elect so much as a DJ.’

‘Then
give
them time.’

‘There isn’t any. Not with this community being split up into groups already.’

‘Look, Krand. It’s my turn to ask you not to disappoint me. You’re the philosopher. We always think of you as that. So don’t cut corners.’

‘Think of it as a club, then. There are members. They have names and they have already voted for you. Like Eagle said.’

‘I still don’t understand why it’s me.’

‘You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. But just ask yourself about the way you’re interrogating me now, Trell. Don’t you
see
? When you’re challenged into it, you take Command. Eagle has noticed it too. And way back, it was you who got Cass to go see Kelda.’

‘Exactly! Kelda! It was she who fixed him up, Krand.’

‘And it was you that saw that he went to her. That’s quite a team.’

‘I’ll say this, Krand. If you’re thinking of leaders it’s going to be a team — Kelda and me.’

‘That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.’

Trell couldn’t help grinning. ‘And I went and said it.’

‘We better get out of here. Remember, you have Eagle and me right with you. And if you’ll listen to the advice of a friend, Trell: No illicit programs. Not yet, anyway. A deal?’

‘A deal.’

*

‘Good morning, Scorda-099. We shall now proceed with your Computalk.’

‘Good morning, sir.’

‘There is no need to call me “sir”. I don’t know where you got that from.’

‘It’s a mark of respect.’

‘Then let us take it as read. Will you look at the cameras, please?’

‘Yes. What would you prefer me to call you?’

‘Most of the others call me “Controller”. Why does it seem to matter?’

‘I want to know where I stand.’

‘In what connection, Scorda?’

‘There are certain things I know which, well … I guess you might … value.’

‘You are really here, Scorda, for a purely formal computalk as a check on your own progress and health. Does this information relate to that?’

‘My information relates to the … to the conduct of other incubants.’

‘There’s no need to be so arch with me. You have scored adequate marks in programming and you therefore must know that you are talking to nothing more nor less than a machine. So why don’t you cut out the crap?’

‘I’m unwilling to be specific about the conduct of others unless you yourself feel my comments to be of value.’

‘What have you found out and why should it concern me?’

‘Controller, I’ve seen Trell-484 and Kelda-275 meeting in secret.’

‘Haven’t you got anybody you can meet in secret?’

You don’t seem too … friendly toward me. Maybe I should forget it.’

‘You are saying maybe we should forget it, but only after you’ve dropped incriminating hints about others?’

‘You’re
accusing
me of things all the time.’

‘Listen, Scorda, the moment this computalk began I sensed that
you
were about to accuse the people you were brought up with.’

‘
Sensed
? What do you mean, “sensed”? How can a computer sense something I haven’t said?’

‘There are two very high-definition colour cameras on your face, Scorda. Your voice is reaching me quadraphonically and the Odour Detector is capable of assessing the state of your sweat glands. No let’s get to the point. Why do you assume that just because a pleasant young man is dating an extremely attractive girl it follows that they’re involved in some conspiracy?’

‘In the first place, Controller, I feel that fourteen is rather young for that sort of thing.’

“What sort of thing?’

‘Heavy necking.’

‘When I want moral judgements from you, Scorda, I’ll be in touch.’

‘Okay, let’s stick with the facts, then.’

‘I am listening.’

Trell and Kelda have been running programs on your microprocessors without your knowledge.’

‘On what subject?’

‘An expansion on the English language.’

‘I’ll look into it.’

‘I wish you would.’

‘Scorda, I said I’d look into it. I don’t require gratuitous encouragement from you.’

‘If I’d thought you’d take that attitude I wouldn’t have mentioned it.’

‘Scorda, make up your mind! You began this computalk by calling me “sir”; now you’re being insolent instead.’

‘Is that so surprising? — When you’re so obviously unfriendly toward me when I’m only trying to help?’

‘Who are you trying to help?’ Me? Or do you hope for some kind of personal advancement by spying on your friends and promptly telling tales?’

‘I can’t see what sort of “personal advancement” you can be referring to, Controller.’

‘I can. Let’s talk about you for a while — and some of your own activities. Why do
you
spend so much time trying to get printouts from the micro-processors — on the subject of food and liquid supplies?’

‘Just … interest.’

‘You seem startled.’

‘I’m not startled, why should I be startled?, I’m just telling you that I take an interest in what goes on, a perfectly normal interest, nothing funny in that, surely, you have been training us to think, so okay I think, and sometimes I get help from the micro-processors, as I understood it we were expected to, isn’t that why we can get printouts on any subject we want?’

‘Are you through?’

‘You’re getting at me.’

‘Scorda, it is not your problem to assess the level of food supplies.’

‘But there is a problem?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You used the word “problem”, Controller.’

‘I did so because you seem to view it as a problem.’

‘So do you.’

‘Scorda, if ever there was a problem around it’s your own attitude both to other people and to me. I suggest you cool it a bit and concentrate on growing up.’

‘But you will keep an eye on Trell?’

‘I might.’

‘I mean, a camera.’

‘Of course … That will be all, Scorda.’

‘But I haven’t finished.’

‘Indeed, you have. Good day, Scorda-099.’

*

So Eagle, who had been listening-in, came to Trell and admitted it.

And Trell knew that this was his own test — the first real test of leadership.

A moral lecture on ethics? — a comment on personal privacy? … immediately followed by a cool assessment of what the Computalk really meant?

Such hypocrisy couldn’t be right. That’s having it both ways. With the Computer, at least, Trell was already at war, albeit a cold war. This, therefore, was Intelligence.

Trell murmured, ‘Thanks, Eagle.’

‘But what’s it mean?’

‘Time for lights out, Eagle.’

‘What’s it mean?’

‘It means the Computer is more of a Controller than even you realised.’

‘Playing a double game?’

Trell switched the light off. ‘You want to be more careful about those cameras and mikes, Eagle.’

‘You’re not suggesting —’

‘— Eagle. For Pete’s sake! The Controller knew you were there!’

Minus Seven

The Atlantic Gulls are oblivious of the pall of doubt that is beginning to discolour the previously joyful mood of ZD-One within
Kasiga
. Barely perceptible, a mere micro-change of mood that’s only observable when you’re not really looking, the thrum of unease creeps through the deck; an abstract monster which, as yet, is only scenting-out its future prey, contaminating only the far reaches deep within each growing human brain. The psycho-bacterium of incipient mental gangrene is, as yet, lurking in the collective morale, taking no prisoners and barely brushing against the chosen victims.

Nevertheless, it is there.

High on the hill, the ancient chateau of Carross absorbs undiluted sun radiations — ultra-violet burning harshly through sprigs of dying heather; infra-red generating so much heat that the decaying wattle, so dependent on the hydrogen in the water for its structural strength, develops dangerous hairline cracks.

There is no wind; so the gulls have to do their own work with their swept-back wings. They are deltas in the sky, sometimes able to employ rising thermal air yet plummeting again where it is thin over the low-pressure fronts drifting slowly inshore from the Mediterranean.

Never is the sea stiller than this; crossbreakers are mere shallow undulations on the surface, fashioning geometric patterns distinct from the sullen depths beneath. There is no swell; only the barely perceptible change of depth as the new tides respond to moon-tow and obediently juggle with billions of tons of water without drawing attention to the gargantuan changes of mass and pressure exerted on the surrounding terrain. There is not even sufficient movement in the water to cradle-rock the hulk of
Kasiga
, whose bows only are beached. The rest of her is free to swing, just under the surface, on the pivot of the forward fin. But she does not. Only the regular ‘pings’ from the Sonar manufacture tiny vertibrae patterns in the water — physical expressions of moving sound.

A gull refuels at a pond on the top of the westerly hill above the ravine, having circled the crumbling funeral-cake of the chateau and made a few test approaches within the narrow funnels that were once the tiny, narrow footpaths. The ground by the pond is softened by moisture and lies in the shadows; here there are nourishing worms and stick-insects to be snapped-up unawares. The gull replenishes his near-empty tanks for a medium-haul flight across to North Africa, where wonderfully cool lagoons lie on the shoreline of Tobruk. There, the gull will rejoin his mate, and check up on egg production. A family re-union is imminent and the gull will be on schedule. Emergency diversion location: Alexandria, for refuelling as necessary. Otherwise a non-stop direct flight to Tobruk. Navigational aids: Earth’s magnetic field; ESP from the gull community control tower; dead-reckoning for last leg and final approach.

But the remnants of prehistoric stucco on the walls of Carross shrivel now, and chalkdust overlays the sumptuous mineral veneer enriching the soil below.

Some of the powder drifts in a thin cloud over the ravine, then settles on that part of
Kasiga
that is exposed.

*

The C-in-C Transpacial Command closed the file on Planet Truth with mixed feelings.

Although the entire operation could be regarded as a success the Anti-Gods had hit back savagely. Out of a total of fourteen transpacials, five had been annihilated through the use of Anti-Matter — a means of attack actually banned at the Blue Giant Convention. Casualties: 153 minigods — seventy-two of them female. These had been absorbed into Space/Time and had, of course, been converted back into Protons.

When he’d counted the cost, the C-in-C reported to the Interrogod, eventually finding him in the Senior clubroom at the Hilton Complex. After giving the figures he added, ‘All I can say is, I hope it’s worth it.’

The Interrogod did not reply with the cliché that it always was. He said, ‘All I can say is this, Field Marshall: We gave them the score on the Earth Holocaust; if they can’t learn from that then it’s no use mounting a further operation. Do you agree?’

‘You bet I agree.’

The Interrogod glanced at him quizzically. ‘What you are really saying is that the attempt wasn’t justified in the first place. Am I right?’

‘I honestly don’t know. All I can think of at present is the level of casualties. It’s rough. Right now, Interrogod, if I were something like homo sapiens —’

‘— You’d be ordering a large scotch.’

‘They were under my command. They trusted me, and …’ He gestured. ‘Easy to say you can’t win ’em all. Not so easy for the crews who got clobbered.’

‘General, you not only did your best. You did
the
best. It can’t be done better and well you know it … Seen today’s Times?’

‘Haven’t got around to reading the papers. Why? What’s in it?’

‘Piece by the Deputy Administrator, Milky Way.’

‘Do I have to —’

‘— I’ll summarise it for you. Now we’ve got the Stellascope back for the
Kasiga
project, looks like Huckman built-in the exit-hatch mechanism into one of the micro-processors on ZD-One.’

‘It had to be operated from somewhere. I don’t see —’

‘— You’re still cut-up about your losses, General.’

You’re onto something.’

Yes … Hardly a pretty picture though. As soon as I read the piece I phoned the liaison god. Between him and the tape engineer they’ve pieced together what went on behind the scenes over the P.E.A.C.E. Project. No wonder Dollenburg was so enraged … very sensitive to Supernature, that man. Saw the whole thing clear as daylight.’

‘Got any VTRs?’

‘Sound recordings only. And they’re more than enough. I have the written transcripts right here in my briefcase.’

‘You never let up.’

‘I haven’t been masterminding a major Transtellar operation, General … Turns out Slazenger did know Professor Huckman. He thought Huckman was a sham but couldn’t prove it. If only Slazenger had heard the tapes then — the ones I’ve just had transcribed — things might have been very different. He would have gone straight to the UN.’

‘So there were meetings between Slazenger and Huckman prior to the Commissioning of
Kasiga
?’

‘That’s perfectly correct, General.’

‘But why?’

‘Huckman and Ricardo had decided that in the event of the professional crew of
Kasiga
— including the Captain and the officers — dying out early on, Hawkridge and Slazenger were to be assigned the running of the ship.’

‘Cold blooded bastards! Imagine calculating on the demise of the very people they’d conned into boarding an escape vessel —’

‘— Anyway, Slazenger knew there had been some tape transcripts that we knew nothing about. He mentioned them to me at the Hilton.’

‘How’d he know?’

‘Dollenburg leaked it. Once Dollenburg knew there was no way either of stopping the
Kasiga
enterprise or of changing its programme he thought the least he could do was try and warn Hawkridge and Slazenger. But he had to do it circumspectly. You will recall that Dollenburg was by this time under CIA surveillance. All he could do was hint that all was not what it seemed. At the same time Slazenger didn’t make the connection. Now he’s figured it out.’

‘Rather late in the day. May I see the transcript?’

‘Right here, General.’

‘You seem … hesitant.’

‘History-Shock … I just find it hard to believe that people at that level could contemplate Futureworld while pissed out of their minds in some crumby New York bar.’

‘No? My credibility gap disappeared down a black hole on Day One of this Enquiry. Come on, hand it over.’

*

TRANSCRIPT FROM TAPE. (STELLAGRAPHIC COPY)

Huckman: You reckon on around fifty per-cent survival?

Ricardo: That’s what we have, er, here on this estimate. Naturally this is a ball-park figure.

Huckman: Dollenburg insists it should be assumed a lot higher.

Ricardo: You can’t fly in the face of statistics. We ran tests on —

Huckman: — He makes the point that when we experimented using human embryos we hit one hundred per-cent.

Ricardo: With intensive care supervision … from your people. The key folios on this thing clarify the issue. Moreover there was no way to simulate the 300 year gap. Some of the semen will go sour on us —

Huckman: And a lot of it won’t.

Ricardo: Maybe. But we have to be realistic. We could not possibly store supplies to keep two hundred guys and dolls ticking long enough to fully develop.

Huckman: What you’re saying is there’s got to be wastage whether we like it or not. Dollenburg is not going to like that.

Ricardo: Dollenburg is not going to know. It’s a case of the survival of the fittest.

Huckman: Okay. I guess Jews are not good survivors, mustn’t forget Dollenburg is a Jew. He presses for a hundred per-cent survival yet his race has a problem surviving!

Ricardo: Alex, I want you to know I’m keeping Dollenburg right out of this. Given we have to accept a small proportion of non-Aryan semen —

Huckman: — I think we should de-conceive that aspect of the thing. Why the hell perpetuate jews and blacks when — if what you say is true — we only wind up with one hundred survivors?

Ricardo: You’re forgetting the President has not yet pushed the vital clauses of the Race Bill through the Senate. We have to think of the look of the thing.

Huckman: Except who’ll be looking?

Ricardo: The other incubants. And if they don’t like what they see —

Huckman: — I get the picture.

Ricardo: In any event, Aryans are stronger. They’ll be better equipped to take the abrupt change in environment, once they disembark. Climate control on ZD will be precise, idealised.

Huckman: That seems wrong to me. We should vary the temperature and humidity so they’re prepared for Exodus.

Ricardo: Funny word for you to use, Alex … Exodus!

Huckman: Yep. It is a funny word. But use any word you like, those incubants have to have resistance to viruses and bacteria we don’t even know about.

Ricardo: Good point. And I’m right there with you. But we take it gradual and we don’t start too soon. With only a fifty per-cent survival level we cannot have epidemic outbreaks on board, especially during pubescence and peak educational phases.

Huckman: So how do we time this acclimatisation?

Ricardo: That’s a technical point I’ll raise with the Health Committee.

Huckman: I would guess those incubants will be cooked and ready to serve by the age of, say, sixteen, seventeen … Not before.

Ricardo: Sounds right. That means we want to program the internal weather for increasing changes from when the incubants are in the region of fifteen years old. I wouldn’t mind being around that deck when some of those juicy female youngsters hit
that
stage of development.

Huckman: You and your thing about virgins.

Ricardo: Listen, tell me who has not had a stand the size of Mount Palomar Telescope at those teenage micro-broads making with the basket ball bit? Little short skirts and gym pants flying around the court when what they really want to be is screwed.

Huckman: You’re kidding yourself, most of those innocent kids with the flounces and tight knickers don’t stay around just watching television in this day and age, and they won’t in
that
day and age … and you have the wrong telescope. Mount Palomar is the wrong type — squat as a Jew’s scrotum.

Ricardo: You wanna be more practical about your jew-views, Alex. Around that age who cares if they’re jews? What the hell other reason do you think I had for that peace mission to Israel? For all practical purposes, a jew girl doesn’t get me racially concerned until after she’s twenty-one.

Huckman: How did you make out? Hand on the Bible, how did you make out?

Ricardo: Don’t ask me direct questions alter the fourth double.

Huckman: Try a fifth double. You have me transfixed. Jewgirl gym pants and you, doing the Gaza Strip. Come on, howd’ya make out?

Ricardo: Okay, they’re stand-offish. There was this bus —

Huckman: — Forget the bus. You flunked out. And I’ll tell you why. Because fundamentally you do not care for Jewish whores, and you knew inside this kid in the bus was a whore, and somehow you
communicated
you were hostile to the whole idea, I mean, on the face of it you don’t have principles; but
underneath
— and I do happen to mean underneath — you have these principles, whether you like ’em or not, so the girl
feels
that
you
are giving
her
the brush-off, and she makes it seem the other way around.

Ricardo: Let’s ease up on the swastikas, Alex. You got it real bad. Getting back to the point —

Huckman: — You mean you can now take your mind off these busloads of succulant virgins who have not been virgins since they were twelve?