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

house?”

“I have twenty fertile females and five wet nurses. Right now I have a hundred children, from infants to adolescents.”

“How many males?”

“Ninety are male and ten female -- the usual ratio.”

“No -- how many adult males?”

“None. I obtain semen from some of the nearby farms. I'll tell you, Nykkyo -- I can't say enough good about the BSS. The society not only provides shelter but also advocacy. Just two years ago was our biggest victory -- the Termination Act.”

“Which is?” Nyk prompted.

“Now, it is illegal to terminate one without a hearing before the fieldworkers' committee. If not for cause...”

“Cause?” Nyk interrupted.

“One that's a menace to society may be terminated on order from the committee. Abandoned or unwanted individuals must be placed in temporary shelters while the BSS attempts to place them. Violating this procedure is considered a serious crime -- akin to homicide. We do not tolerate it here and it is prosecuted vigorously. Because of the registry and the hearings, the BSS knows of each situation. We've brought the termination rate for registered ones nearly to the vanishing point.”

“What about the feral ones?” Andra asked.

Ramina sighed. “That I'm afraid is the next territory for the BSS to conquer. There was an unfortunate incident regarding a feral adolescent girl who was terminated...”

“I read about that,” Nyk interjected.

“I interviewed her. She was a nice girl who happened to be unregistered -- not wild at all. The incident sparked an uproar among BSS members. Now we have a bill in the government house to bring feral ones under the committee umbrella. I don't know how much it will help -- some of the feral ones are wild, indeed -- but it's a start.”

“Does Varada have a large feral population?” Nyk asked.

“In the cities -- no. Once in a while you hear of one surfacing.”

“Like that poor girl,” he remarked.

“No. Like I said, she was not wild -- simply unregistered. True ferals are not found often in the cities.”

“What about the rural areas?”

She shook her head. “Who knows?”

“Where do they live?”

“They're well adapted to living in the forests between the pomma farms. They can trap and kill small animals for their protein requirements. They even have learned to steep minerals from the soil.”

“Does that mean they know how to use fire?” Andra asked.

Ramina sighed. “I've heard tales of feral populations.”

“Do you mean reports ... sightings?”

“Tales ... As you know, there are vast, virgin forests to the north. I've heard stories of feral tribes living in rude villages up there ... villages of huts made of logs and soil.”

“They would need fire to survive in the north,” Nyk observed. “How much credence do you place in these stories?”

“Not much. Even if they were capable of the amazing feats described in these tall tales, the northern climate would be inhospitable to them. They were designed for the climate here in the so-called Pomma Belt. We do know small pockets of them exist in the woodlands and hedgerows. I believe they are the extent of the feral population.

“Are they dangerous?”

“Left alone -- no. Once in a while you hear of a group of children being frightened by them. Until recently, official policy was kill-on-sight...”

“Kill on sight?” Andra asked.

“Yes, but we're working on changing that. Until this bill is debated and voted up or down, there's a moratorium on killing ferals. I'm glad for that -- I worry that an errant registered one might be mistaken for a feral...” She looked up at the certificate. “The BSS also has established programs for doctors wishing to specialize in medicine for them. They have special needs, you know. Yes, the BSS helps make sure they're cared for.”

“Wouldn't it be better if they could care for themselves?” Andra asked.

“But -- they aren't capable.”

“Laida appears fully capable,” Nyk replied.

“My Laida is special -- she's unusually bright and outgoing. Most are not.”

“Like her mother?” Andra asked.

Ramina's brow darkened. “Her mother is like that because she was over-conditioned. She was that way when I acquired her.”

“I've heard that term,” Nyk replied. “What does it mean?”

“It's a reprehensible practice. They're taken as children. Their brains are irradiated -- certain cognitive centers are destroyed -- to make them more docile. This is the reason I became a breeder. Conditioning -- a gentle term for such a vicious procedure. When I learned what it truly was I was infuriated. I wanted to show our world what could result from no conditioning.” She scooped up the toddler boy and bounced him on her knee. A tear ran down her cheek. “I refuse to let any of my children be treated so. Look at him ... would you have those eyes clouded?” She kissed the little boy. “The only conditioning my boys and girls receive is love, dignity and proper guidance.”

“And the result is Laida.”

“As I said, Laida is special. Even without conditioning, their intelligence is below that of a normal human. They were designed that way. Once in a while an exceptional one comes along. I was lucky enough to have Laida.”

“She must've inherited that intelligence from someone,” Andra said. “Imagine what her mother might've been without conditioning.”

“It makes my blood pressure rise every time I think of it,” Ramina replied.

“All your children are special,” Nyk observed.

“Demand for mine far exceeds my ability to produce them. Other breeders are taking note. We'll see the end of conditioning -- perhaps not in my lifetime, but mark my word -- the conditioners' days are numbered.”

Laida returned from the back hall. “We should be heading back,” she said. “We wouldn't want to violate curfew.”

“No, we would not,” Ramina agreed.

Nyk followed Laida onto the street. “The liveries are probably off the street by now,” she said.

“Why? This doesn't look like a bad part of town.”

“Some of the surrounding areas are quite bad, and the liveries won't come here after sundown. Come -- we'll take the streetcar home. I ride it all the time.”

Nyk stood at the corner stop and craned his neck to look down the street. Laida pointed. “Two sectors over that way is the Green Zone.”

“What's that?”

“It's a sector set aside for us.”

“For you?”

“Not for ME,” she replied. Laida rolled her eyes upward in thought. “It stems from the practices of some brokers. Placing us in urban jobs is riskier than farm work. We must compete with labor class whites. Our wages are lower, so the lease fees the brokers collect are lower. They are supposed to provide shelter for us, but shelter in the city can be expensive. Many of the brokers turn us loose to fend for ourselves. In the Green Zone, we can find shelter.”

“There are houses for you there?”

“Yes.”

“Who owns them?”

“The city does. They're old buildings, but adequate for shelter, and it costs the brokers nothing to house us. Fortunately, I have very fine quarters at the guest house, and between assignments Ms Ramina keeps a place for me here. I've never been inside the Green Zone.” The whine of a turbine grew louder. “Here's the car,” Laida said. “Put your scrip card in the farebox and don't forget to get a transfer.” The bus stopped and she headed toward the platform on the rear.

“Laida -- how do we know which stops?”

“I'll wave,” she shouted.

The door opened. He stepped in and slipped his card into the farebox slot. “Two fares,” he told the driver, who pressed a key. His card was slurped into the box and then popped back out. “Transfers?” The driver twice poked a button on the side of the box and two colored tokens dropped into a slot.

Nyk gestured to Andra and they headed toward the back of the bus. The rear window was scratched and clouded but he could see Laida through it, holding onto an overhead rail. She made eye contact and smiled.

He glanced toward Andra. “You know -- when she smiles, she's a very pretty girl.”

The bus worked its route and approached a corner. Laida rapped on the window to signal Nyk. He walked toward the front of the bus and stepped to the sidewalk at the next stop. Laida bounded to them from the rear of the coach. “We cross the street,” she said. That bus will take us to a block away from the guest house.”

Nykkyo held Andra's hand as they walked from the bus stop toward the guest house. Laida followed about three paces behind. “It makes me angry,” Andra whispered.

“What does?” She nodded behind them. “She knows her place,” Nyk replied.

“I can't believe I heard you say that!” Andra hissed and snatched her hand from his.

“It's the truth. She knows what this society expects.”

“Yes, and I remember what Ogan said: This society has no room for non-functioning novonids.”

“Andra, you KNOW I'd rather she walk beside us so we could hold hands.”

“What would happen then? Would she be arrested? Put down? Most likely...”

They arrived at the apartment. Nyk unlocked the door with his passcard. “Good night, Laida,” he said.

“I must clear the dinner plates. They weren't going anywhere, remember?”

“I remember. Come on in.”

Laida followed him into the apartment and bussed the plates from the table.

“Laida,” Nyk said, “have you heard tales of ... of your kind living in tribes in the forests to the north?”

She looked over her shoulder as she wiped the dinner plates. “Do you mean feral novonids?”

“Yes -- Ramina told us of tales.”

“I've heard them.”

“Do you believe them?” Andra asked. “Is it possible?”

“I suppose it's possible,” she replied. “There's probably strong enough sunshine. I wouldn't want to, though. It's cold up there -- it would be very uncomfortable.”

“They couldn't wear coats because of blocking the sun,” Nyk remarked.

“Laida,” Andra said, “If you were given the choice between living in the forest or being hunted here -- which would you choose?”

“I would choose to do what I'm doing.”

“Suppose that weren't an option. Suppose your only choices were to flee to the cold or spend your life hiding from those intent on killing you. What would you do?”

“I don't know... I'm sorry -- I'm not equipped to answer your question. I've lived too comfortable a life, I guess.” She dried her hands and set clean plates on the table. “There -- ready for breakfast.” She looked at Nyk and at Andra. “I'm very sorry...”

“Sorry for what?” Nyk asked.

“I'm not often asked for my opinion. Tonight you asked me and I had none to give.”

“No, Laida,” Andra replied. “Your responses were lightening and interesting.”

“Lightening?” Laida asked.

“She meant enlightening,” Nyk said. “Didn't you?” Andra smiled and nodded.

Laida broke into a smile. “Really?”

“Yes,” Andra added, “as was our entire evening.”

“I'm pleased. I'll see you both in the morning.”

Nyk watched Laida head out the door. “Enlightening, of course...” he heard Andra mutter.

Nykkyo slipped into bed and coaxed Andra to snuggle against him. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Andra's legs twitched against his as she drifted toward sleep. Slowly the tension drained from his body and he began to drowse.

He was standing in a pomma field, dressed only in a pair of shorts and with a fieldworker's pouch at his side. A glance down showed the number KNK221353 on his left shoulder. The hot Varadan sun, halfway past the meridian in the afternoon sky blazed overhead.

He scanned a row of pomma plants, extending to his left and his right to the horizon. That row was replicated over and over again to the vanishing point. He grasped a seed head and began stripping kernels. An older novonid worker approached him. “Pick the tassels off first,” he said. “Pick the whole plant clean. Then, harvest the kernels. Watch...” The fieldworker cupped his hand around a seed head, closed it into a fist and opened it again. He dumped a handful of kernels into his pouch.

Nyk followed the fieldhand's lead, plucking tassels and grasping the seed heads and dropping kernels into his pouch. He stepped to the next plant and deposited the harvested kernels. He looked down -- his pouch had grown to the size of a golf bag.

The fieldworker measured the sun's distance to the horizon by holding two fingers at arm's length. He reached into a pocket, withdrew a whistle and blew it. Nyk dragged his bag of pomma to the collection station and dumped it into the hopper.

A turbine's whine approached and an open bus stopped. Other fieldworkers climbed aboard. Nyk followed them and stood as the vehicle headed from the field and toward a cluster of low buildings. It stopped near a clearing. An overseer sat at a table. Behind him was a board. Pegs held keys of different shapes and colors.

The overseer opened a large ledger-book. “Seven-two-three,” he called out. The older man who had helped him harvest stepped forward. “Number one.”

An assistant overseer took a key from the board and handed it to the man. He headed toward another cluster of buildings.

“Three-five-three,” the overseer called out. Nyk looked around. “Three-five-three!”

One of the