CHAPTER 5 “Revelations, Part Two”
Wednesday 20 July 2811
We finished the main course in our tiny kitchen as Benny offered theories as to the fate of Dr. Fujimoto, including rumours that she still lives and continues using the long-since-banned Methuselah Regimen.
Benny picked up the box with the fortune cookies and handed one to mom and one to me. All three of us then cracked them open, pulled out the white slips of paper, and silently read our fortunes.
“¿So mom, what’s yours?”
“People agree that you cannot be corrupted,” she read. “Ha! Little do they know.”
Dr. Blackwell added, “Mine says, don’t neglect the ones you love. ¿And Estrella, what does yours say?”
“Take your time and do a thorough job.”
Benny broke out with a short laugh. “Take your time? I imagined it would say you are about to take a long journey.”
“I expected much the same.” In a mock fortuneteller voice, I intoned, “You vill take a trip faaar away and learn maaany secrets.” I finished in a normal tone, “So much for fortune cookies. Dr. Blackwell, you ended with ISTRI abandoned at the start of the Neo-Dark Age. ¿So how did ISTRI get started again?”
“About 300 years after the Dying War, the Second Renaissance had advanced to the point that star travel once again seemed reasonable, so the government funded a new research institute using the old name.”
I interrupted with, “¿And they’re planning on launching the starship on the 800th anniversary? That’s one helluva long delay.”
“Well, then consider this.” He stuffed his napkin back into its ring. “On its 700th anniversary ISTRI started building the infrastructure to make the starship a reality. About the time you were born, construction finally started on the starship itself in Geostationary Earth Orbit. By the time you were accepted to FSA Cadet School, ISTRI was deeply involved in the School’s curriculum and in student assessments.”
“Whoa. Back up, please,” I interrupted. “You like skipped the weirdest facet of the preparations and the part I have been definitely most curious about. ¿Like how was I bred? ¿How were my friends in school bred? ¿I mean did they like manipulate DNA?”
“Manipulate, no. Replace pathogenic sequences, yes. Select people to donate eggs and sperm, yes. Do complete genomic analyses of donors and V-babies, yes. You are certifiably free from genetic predisposition to preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, and hundreds of other pathologies. Altogether, this undertaking has involved more technicians than designing and building the starship.”
“¿What? ¿All that just for me and my classmates? That’s preposterous.”
“No, not just for you and the other students; although you were – are – a major component, uh, player, … major person. No, most of the effort was in selecting the colonists. Trillium will carry a hundred and eighty thousand zygotes destined to become colonists.”
“Omma gawd.” Knock me over with a feather. Benny smiled in my direction and took the opportunity to pour himself another glass of water while I digested the implications along with my dinner.
“¿And my baby … my scheduled-for-two-years-from-now baby?” I paused several seconds. “¿A V-baby, right?”
“Ready, waiting, and frozen.”
“¿And his or her baby – my … my grandchildren?” Damn! That sounded so schizy referring to my grandchildren. Then my brain put one and one together and shoved the result into my consciousness. “Benn…. I mean Dr. Blackwell, there’s like no need for men, not on the journey out, anyway. I mean for procreation.”
“And there won’t be – not for procreation nor for any other purpose.”
Well that sucks. Not that I’m that crazy about any of the boys I hang out with. I mean they are fabulously funny, smart, and sweet, but I certainly haven’t thought about raising brats with any of them. And now, I won’t be – raising brats with a guy, that is. Given how perverse my brain can be, I’ll probably obsess about living with a guy – now that I won’t be. Or …. ¿Do I even want to do this?
I looked straight into Benny’s eyes. “¿What if I say ‘no’?”
“Don’t think we hadn’t considered that and consulted with the ISTRI ethicist.” Dr. Blackwell paused, probably calling up the exact phrasing he was coached to deliver to me. “We encourage you to accept this singular honor but if you decline to join the Project, we will attempt to persuade you – civilly and ethically – to change your mind. The bottom line is that the entire population of the Earth would be outraged if an 18-year-old crewmember was being forced to go against her will. Ultimately, of course, the choice is yours. The second and third runners-up have already been selected.”
“¿Can I think this over … for a couple of days, anyway? I’d like to … talk this over with mom, and … well ….”
Benny cut me off with, “You bet, Esty. This is Wednesday evening. Give me a call by Friday morning and let me know where you are in the decision-making process.
I nodded.
“A couple of things before I leave the two of you and your wonderful hospitality. Estrella, your school username and password will now let you log in to the ISTRI starship project web site with a medium-level security clearance. You can browse the site for details of the Project including technical information that would make sense to you, but certainly not to me.”
I nodded. Then Benny went on. “Secondly, do not tell anyone about this. And that goes for you, too, Mrs. Ramirez.” Mom nodded her understanding.
“If you accept, Estrella, you will be coached on how you should handle the hordes of media representatives and bloggers and just plain folk that will want to learn about you. But in the meantime, do not tell anyone; do not email anyone; do not put hints on your personal sites. Seriously, your life would be in danger. I’m certain you’ve heard about the death of the FSA scientist last Friday, Dr. Gary Esteban.”
I nodded. Most of us at school had seen him visiting several times over the years and everyone was talking about the grisly killing.
“We have reason to believe that Dr. Esteban was killed for no other reason than he was involved with Trillium. In fact, to be on the safe side, FSA will move you and your mother to living quarters at ISTRI’s research facility on Bulolombe before the announcement is made; assuming you accept.”
“¿Bulolombe? Way! That’s great! I’ve always wanted to see the Beanstalk.”
“Thought you’d like that, Esty.”
“Excuse me, you two,” mom interrupted. “¿What Beanstalk?”
“Oh, that’s like what people sometimes call the Space Elevator,” I answered. “You’ve seen videos of people riding in a kind of big elevator car going up out of sight on ribbons that take them into GEO, Geostationary Earth Orbit.”
Mom asked, “¿The one on Lake Victoria in Africa? ¿We’re going to Africa?”
“That’s right, if Esty wants,” Benny replied. “Well, it’s time for me to bid adieu… and once again thank you for your hospitality.”
Mom spoke up, “Don’t forget it was you who paid for dinner, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Actually,” Benny said as he rose and donned his coat, “the Federal Space Agency paid for it, Mrs. Ramirez.” Benny then turned to me. “Esty, I know you’re excited, and so am I. Years from now people will be asking me about this evening and about the two of you; and I’ll tell them how gracious you both were.”
“And gob-smacked,” I added.
* * * * * * *
As soon as Benny rounded the corner in the hallway that leads to the elevators, I turned to mom, took her hand, closed the door, and we settled onto the old faded green couch. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Mom. I suppose it’s been hard keeping such a secret all of these years.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so much a secret as just details that we rarely ever thought about. Your father and I were not really sworn to secrecy. You weren’t an assignment. You were our baby. You were our little girl and now you are my amazing teenage daughter. All V-babies are special in some way.” Mom straightened up a little and continued, “We submitted the application for a baby, a V-baby, and the agency sent us another questionnaire asking more questions. Later there was an online interview followed the next week by an unusual request for a face-to-face.”
“¿Did that worry you?”
“Heavens no,” mom replied with a generous smile. “Each step of the way we were told that we might qualify for a special V-baby. And sure enough, they called us in for yet another face-to-face to congratulate us. They told us that our V-baby had genetic potential to qualify for FSA Cadet School. We had no idea that ISTRI was behind it all. I only found that out today from Dr. Blackwell.”
We sat in silence for a few moments before I could think what I would say to learn more. “Mom, the agency was obviously impressed that you had a degree in human development and dad was a science writer.”
“Oh yes. Not only did he write a science column for a webmag, he had a degree in biophysics and a teaching credential. And every day he just had to tell you and me something he learned while researching for his next column. He was perfect for you and for the FSA… and ISTRI and…”
Mom’s voice broke. Sometimes she teared-up when talking about dad; and other times she talked about him with no obvious emotional baggage. This time she cried.
“Estrella,” she managed to voice after a bit. “I wish to all the stars above that he was alive to see this day. But he did a lot of things that were risky.”
“Mom. I loved dad – and I miss him. But … but there’s a selfish little voice in me that sometimes whispers that if dad really cared about you and me, he wouldn’t have taken such chances.”
Mom still had her napkin in her hand and dried the tears on her face. “Estrella, he took risks partly because he was adventurous and partly because he wanted you to grow up adventurous. Yes, he died taking a risk, but dear, we all die, regardless whether we live fretfully or boldly. He wanted you to share his bold streak. We both agreed that risks give us opportunities to grow. Risks are things to evaluate; not things to fear.”
“Well, I suppose my going boldly where no girl has gone before would have made him happy.” I smiled at my clever turn of phrase, but the smile rapidly became contorted by the tightening of my facial muscles as tears welled up. Mom leaned over and enveloped me in a warm hug.