The Lost Colony - DM Arnold (english novels to read .TXT) 📗

-- your hands are shaking.”

“The sun-hunger has returned. Mr Alvo said I may spend the day tending the gardens.”

“If you need sun -- go get it,” Andra said. “Nyk and I can fend for ourselves.”

“You're sure?”

“Absolutely. You're dismissed, Laida.”

“Thank you. I'll see you this evening.”

Nyk sat at the conference table with Andra beside him. Prefect Ogan breezed into the room. “Envoy Wells is due tomorrow. What else needs doing to prepare?”

“We would like more information on the novonids,” Nyk said.

“Is this being requested by the envoy?'

“It is being requested by some homeworld authorities.”

Ogan paced. “Very well. Our novonid project is an open book. What can I tell you?”

“Are all novonids as docile and complacent as you have represented?”

“Hmm...” He continued to pace. “In the early years of the project, we had some strains that exhibited more aggressive behavior. Over the years we have bred that trait out of the species.”

“But the trait could surface.”

“It's possible. From time to time we do encounter individual specimens that respond poorly to conditioning.”

“And, what do you do with those?” Ogan paced. “Prefect -- what happens to specimens resistant to conditioning.”

“If they respond poorly enough -- they are ... terminated. In a humane manner, of course.”

“Terminated?” Andra asked. “Does the same practice extend to field workers who have become too old or infirm to produce?”

“You must understand ... we have no room in our society for unproductive novonids.”

“In other words,” Andra replied, “you have brought these people into this world, you use them and then discard them.”

“They are NOT people.” Ogan paced more, his eyes rolled upward. “There is a movement among us -- the Benevolent Shelter Society... They take in worn-out workers ... care for them ... give them shelter ... until nature takes its course.”

“How many are placed in the shelters?”

“These days -- most.”

“But not all.”

“No, not all.” He stopped and faced them. “There -- I've laid it on the table. Pass this all along to your homeworld authorities. I make no apologies for our practices -- they are what they are. You will find normalization between Floran and Varada beneficial -- or not. That must be your assessment. But -- we will NOT deceive you.”

“A policy I favor,” Nyk replied. “I appreciate your candor. Were all diplomats like that.” Ogan proffered a weak smile. “Answer this, Prefect... Are the novonids sentient?”

“Sentient? What do you mean?”

“Are they aware of their own mortality? Do they fear their own deaths?”

“Hmm... That's a difficult one to answer. Their brains are patterned after the human model, and they have limited cognitive skills. No one knows for sure how they perceive the world around them. Any comparison of their thought patterns to ours would be mere conjecture.”

“Can they be taught to read?” Nyk asked.

“Can they be taught to recognize written patterns? Yes. It doesn't mean they comprehend what they read.”

“The guest house assigned us a young novonid woman to be our attendant,” Andra noted. “I was impressed with her, Prefect. She seemed sentient. Her cognitive skills seemed well enough developed to compete with the best of us. She understands the notion of the future -- well enough to dread childbearing. She certainly was aware of her own mortality.”

“What makes you think that?”

“She understands that, if deprived of sunlight long enough, she will die. I'll tell you, Prefect -- if I closed my eyes while conversing with her, I wouldn't have known she was one of your artificial people. She was articulate and her speech patterns belied nothing that would make me think she was other than a human peer.”

“Ms Baxa... We have five centuries of experience with these beings. We designed them for a purpose. You, on the other hand, have been on this world less than one full day, and you have had direct contact with ... how many? two? three? Please don't presume you know more of them than we do.”

“Prefect,” Andra replied coldly, “I am offering my observations as a dispassionate outsider...”

“Outsider, yes. Dispassionate? I believe there may be some concealed agenda to your line of discussion.”

“No agenda, Prefect. Events in my life have given me some appreciation for what the novonids must be...”

“Prefect,” Nyk interrupted. “Would it be possible for us to visit a pomma farm?”

“You wish to observe novonids in their natural habitat. I think I can arrange it.”

A mini-bus sped along a highway into the countryside surrounding the Varadan capital, its alcohol-fueled turbine whining. Nyk pointed. “This is all pomma?”

“Yes.”

He regarded the fields of waist-high shrubs with pack-toting novonid men strolling the rows.

“Mr Alvo at our guest house told us the novonids lack free wills,” Andra said.

“That is true,” Ogan replied.

“Is it fact or merely a legal fiction?”

“Why would you call it a fiction?”

“I would say our novonid maid has a will that certainly appears free to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving. They lack the ability to weigh facts and make informed decisions; consequently they may not own property or enter into legal contracts. They were designed thus, Andra.”

“Prefect,” Nyk said. “Perhaps this is an indelicate question... Is there a Varadan sex industry involving novonid women?”

“Why would you ask something like that?”

“Out of curiosity. I know of it happening on other colonies. On Altia, for example, a subrace has evolved and those women find employment as prostitutes.”

“I can speak for the entire Varadan population,” Ogan replied, “perhaps with the exception of the odd pervert here or there. We find the notion of intercourse between Varadans and novonids to be repugnant ... disgusting. I personally find it abhorrent.”

“I apologize for offending you, then.”

“It's quite all right, Nykkyo. We agreed to be open... As a matter of fact, anyone caught in such an act would be severely punished.”

“Both parties?” Andra asked. “Human as well as novonid?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Tell me, Prefect,” she continued. “Is it regular Varadan practice to punish victims of crime?”

“Certainly not. The victim in such a case is the sensibility of all Varadan society.”

“No doubt. But what of a novonid victim of a sexual assault? Would you punish her?”

“Of course not. We were discussing consensual intercourse, not rape.”

“I believe, Prefect,” Andra replied, “you have contradicted yourself.”

“How so?”

“You tell us the novonids lack free will. Therefore they must lack the ability to give consent, for consent is a choice and choice derives from free will. A sexual act with a non- consenting partner is rape. Yet, you also tell us you will punish a novonid caught in such an act. Which is it, Prefect? Do they or do they not have free wills? Can they give consent or not?”

Ogan glowered at her. “Let me express it more directly,” he finally said. “Novonids are like humans in that each possesses a baser self. Like us, they have emotions and primitive drives. Our conditioning trains them to suppress acting on such. Those unable to resist are dealt with.”

The vehicle slowed at a sprawling complex of low buildings. “Ah,” Ogan said. “We have arrived. Let me speak with the landlord.” He stepped from the bus.

“Ogan's a pro,” Nyk said. “Did you see how he danced his way out of your trap?”

Andra smiled. “A real pro would've seen the trap coming and avoided it. I think, perhaps unintentionally, you touched a nerve. I could see it when you broached the subject -- it struck him on an emotional level. We were trained at the academy to look for such. The best way to trap someone is with an emotional lure.” She kissed his cheek. “You performed the perfect set-up, Nyk. Another ax'amfin couldn't have done better.”

Ogan opened the door and gestured Nyk and Andra outside. “I feel this sun,” she said.

“Be careful,” Nyk replied. “I've had sunburn on Earth. I imagine with your fair skin you'd get burned standing too near a light bulb.”

7 -- The Pomma Farm

A young man approached them. “This is the farm's overseer,” Ogan explained. “He will take you to the crops.”

“Follow me.”

They walked toward a field resembling many the bus had passed. Their guide pointed to a row of waist-high plants. “This is pomma,” he said. “Mature plants are in continuous production.” He picked a fruiting body and pointed to it. “These grains have tasseled out and the tassel must be plucked.” He picked off a red, feathery structure growing from the tip of a kernel. “These grains are ready to harvest.” He picked them off and handed them to Nyk. “These grains are immature and must be left to ripen. Every day, each seed head has grains requiring attention of some sort.”

“Hence the intense manual labor required to harvest the crop,” Nyk remarked.

“Exactly. The grains must be picked at the proper moment of maturity. Left alone the seeds become inedible. Once the plant sets seed it dies back and regenerates, and it takes several years for it to once again become productive.”

They approached a novonid man in late middle age. At his waist he wore a pouch into which he placed harvested kernels. Nyk watched his deft fingers de-tasseling some grains and harvesting others. Methodically he worked his way from top to bottom of the plant, then moved on to the next one. “Care to try your hand at it?” Ogan asked.

Nyk approached a pomma plant and plucked red tassels. He picked a few grains. “I would quickly tire of this work.”

“Be careful not to disturb the immature kernels,” Andra said.

“My fingers are getting red.”

Nyk dropped a handful of kernels into the novonid worker's pouch. “That's enough,” he said. “Your fieldhands are content to do this work day in and day out?”

“Certainly,” Ogan replied. “They prefer to be busy as they soak up sunshine.” He turned to the overseer. “Show our visitors the demonstration we discussed.”

“Oh, yes...” The overseer called to one of the men. “Seven-five-three. Come over here.” One of the fieldworkers turned and approached them. “Here -- put this over your head.” He handed the worker a transparent polymer bag. “Secure it with this.” The worker slipped an elastic band around his neck, headed back to the field and returned to his work.

“How long,” Ogan asked, “would you remain upright with one of those over your head?”

“Not ... not very long,” Nyk stammered.

“He can stand there all day.”

“The bag isn't even moving,” Andra said.

“It's because he isn't breathing. He has no need to.” Ogan held out his arms. “Under these conditions, his metabolism is in perfect balance. The carbon dioxide his muscles create is absorbed by the chloroplasts in his skin. Photosynthesis turns it into fuel and oxygen, which his muscles consume.”

“Should he begin to exert himself,” Nyk asked, “would he start breathing?”

“Yes, and when the sun goes down and his metabolism reverts to an aerobic mode.”

“I imagine he could produce a surplus of oxygen and begin exhaling it.”

“It does happen,” Ogan replied, “but oxygen surplus is uncomfortable for them.”

“Hence the urge to be busy in the sun.” Nyk shook his head. “Remarkable. What amazing aerobic capacity. I would hate to get into a long-distance foot race with him -- especially, during daylight.”

“You wouldn't have a chance,” the overseer said. “Seven-five-three,” he called, “you can take that thing off.”

“Let's get Andra out of the sun,” Nyk said. “Show us the workers' quarters.”

He followed Ogan and the guide toward a barracks. They passed a hopper connected to an Archimedes screw leading to the top of a silo. “When a worker's pouch is full, he comes here to empty it,” the guide said, “and to take water.”

One of the fieldworkers dumped his pouch into the hopper. He picked up a dipper, filled it from a bucket and drank. Nyk watched him head back to the fields.

They reached the barracks. “This is one of the men's lodges.”

Nyk looked in the barracks door and saw rows of mattresses on the floor. “How many work here?”

“This is a small, family-owned plantation with only a hundred hectares in cultivation. We have two hundred fifty novonid workers -- all but twenty are men.”

“So, it requires between two and three fieldhands per hectare,” Nyk observed.

“Yes -- Two if they're good... There are large industrial farms further out in the countryside with thousands of hectares and thousands of novonids.”

“How much pomma does one hectare