War World X: Takeover (62 page)

“Do you miss it, Arlen?” Broome asked as they looked down on the room filled with the physical cream of two dozen colony worlds and moons.

Cavor shook his head, then shrugged. “Well, I miss the parties.” He smiled at her. “Not that there were ever any girls there who were prettier than you.”

Broome gave him a friendly but cautionary smile. “We’re not supposed to be married, Arlen.”

Cavor’s eyes made an almost imperceptible roll. “Please. I haven’t seen a single young man here yet who was worth your time. Besides, the days when we had to gather genmat that way are long gone.” He looked at his wife. “Not that I’d deny you the recreational aspect if you were so inclined.”

Broome almost shuddered. “Please. There is nothing ‘recreational’ to having one of these—stud horses—lurching above you for thirty seconds and thinking he’s the greatest lover in the universe because he ‘bagged a Sauron’. I did my part in four sets of games; two winter, two summer. That was enough for the Genetics Ministry and more than enough for me.” She bumped into her husband in a way that no observer would suspect meant all that it did to the two of them. “I much prefer the exclusivity of my contract—and the children I’ve had—with you.”

Cavor’s expression was almost pained. “
Stud horse
…in their wildest dreams they would not warrant the dignity of such a title. They’re more like…I don’t know….” he searched for the right label. “Cattle?”

Broome nodded. “I’d say that’s a perfect word.”

“Oh, I don’t know that they’re as bad as all that,” a voice spoke up from behind them.

Broome and Cavor turned and nodded greetings to Commissioner Larson Voorhees, director of the IOOC since Sauron colony had been given sole responsibility for the games four years before. Voorhees’ family was among the initial colonists of Sauron, commonly referred to as “Firstholders.” But that would not have been enough to secure him his position had he not combined his heritage with an organizational genius of the first magnitude. Since Sauron had begun running the games, and with Voorhees at the helm, the Olympics had grown in popularity and even turned a consistent profit.

“Good to see you, sir,” Cavor shook Voorhees’ hand and Broome kissed his cheek warmly. Both were longtime friends and close confidants of the Commissioner. “Although I think I’ll have to stand by my assessment. With the obvious exception, of course,” he gestured toward the crowd below in a way that indicated they all knew who he meant.

Voorhees collected a glass of champagne from a nearby table and joined them in their review of the festivities.

“It’s been a genetic goldmine for us, sir,” Cavor said. “Twenty Earth nations and thirty colony worlds send athletic teams to the games. We’ve been able to collect genetic data from every one of them for the last twenty years. Congratulations, sir. Really; well done.”

“Indeed,” Broome raised a glass to Voorhees and Cavor followed suit.

“You are both very kind,” Voorhees accepted the praise gracefully. One did not demur in Sauron society; if the truth was praiseworthy, it was to be acknowledged, just as one acknowledged responsibility for failure. And Voorhees’ manipulation of the CoDominium Olympic Games was no failure, but a triumph of political maneuvering and scientific research.”

“It’s been a great pleasure to see the work progress so well. The broad spectrum genetic samplings have provided us with tremendous advances. But the real benefits will come from the samplings we collect this year. Of the fifty Perseid embryos implanted throughout the CoDominium, twenty-two are in that group of young people gathered down there today.”

Broome and Cavor were stunned. Broome was the first to find her voice: “Sir,” she said, “That is, in a word, wonderful.”

Voorhees nodded. “It is. Though it is hardly surprising that such physically advanced specimens should find their way into athletic pursuits on their worlds, even we could not be sure so many would be chosen by their home worlds to compete in the events that would put their genetic material, quite literally, back into our hands.”

“Then this will be the conclusion of the Project?” Cavor asked.

“I should think so. The other thirty-eight embryos failed to come to term, or died young, or have already been eliminated in arranged accidents on their worlds.” He sipped his champagne and reassured Cavor and Broome: “Needless to say, our agents acquired sufficient tissue samples from the bodies immediately upon each individual’s death, natural or otherwise.”

“A shame we could not have arranged for all the survivors to be here at these games.” Broome mused.

“Well, we only have so much in the way of assets to invest in political manipulation, Broome,” Voorhees admitted. “I too, would have liked to use those assets to force the various colonial legislatures to send all forty-seven Perseids to these Games. However, it is a tremendous effort to maintain our covert support of the nationalist movements growing on Earth. The sooner America and Russia disavow the treaties that created their CoDominium and return to their provincial squabbles, the sooner Sauron and all the colonies attain independence. Once Sauron is free of CoDominium oversight—and with it, Earth’s meddling in our affairs—we can begin to build the kind of world that is best for every human, everywhere.”

“Hear, hear,” Cavor agreed.

Broome was looking at the mass of Olympic athletes. “What I find fascinating is that, by definition, every one of those young people is an exceptional specimen. Yet, once you
know
that there were twenty-two of them who are superior even in that rarefied group, a trained eugenicist can pick them out of the crowd.”

“And of those twenty-two,” Cavor added, “One stands out above all the rest.”

“Yes,” Voorhees agreed. “I see she’s become something of a sensation in the media. Not to mention the young ‘stud horses’ here at the party.” He directed the latter comment to Broome with a smile.

The three of them looked down at one of the buffet tables. A mass of young and handsome athletes from all over the CoDominium was gathered in a swirling circle, and at the center of this hurricane of testosterone was Becca Royce of Haven.

“If she is not yet a great beauty,” Broome commented, “that time is not far off.”

Haven’s thin air meant a higher exposure to ultraviolet radiation, and its inhabitants had adapted accordingly in just a few generations. Becca tanned quickly in the warm rays of Earth’s sun in Rio de Janeiro. Bronze skin, golden hair and her mother’s deep grey eyes had every male who saw her asking who she was and whether all Haven girls looked like her.

“The reaction of her fellow athletes is to be expected,” Voorhees said, “What about her response?”

“Not so much as a flirtatious smile, Commissioner,” Cavor answered. “Then again, this is a farm girl, and farm girls learn at a very early age how young males act around young females. And why.”

Voorhees smiled. “There is a Greek myth about a young girl who was suckled by a she-bear and grew into a fantastic athlete and huntress. She was the first to wound the monstrous Calydonian Boar and was even counted among Jason’s Argonauts on the quest for the Golden Fleece. She vowed never to marry any man who could not beat her in a footrace; she only lost because of trickery and divine intervention.” Voorhees pointed at the young woman below. “I believe she stands there in the flesh.”

“Acquisition Branch has been diligent, Commissioner,” Broome said.

“Particularly with this one,” Cavor added. “In fact…” he called Voorhees’ attention to one of the wait staff below; no sooner had Becca Royce put down her glass than the waiter swept it up and into a pocket in a single gesture.

“The saliva samplings provide a wealth of detail about her gencodes,” Cavor went on, “but we are still taking great pains to acquire as much actual live tissue as possible. We were hoping she’d be menstruating during the games, but according to the monitors in her quarters, there’s been no sign of this. We do, of course, have blood samples taken in the normal course of drug screenings and other tests.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that she might be sufficiently injured to put her in hospital for a few days?” Voorhees mused.

Broome did not look hopeful about that, at all. “That, Commissioner, would require that she actually injure herself—or at least be in a position where an injury could be inflicted without drawing too much attention. Both are problematic given her skills and talents as evidenced to date.”

“It’s not all bad news, sir.” Cavor said. “The preliminary examination of her codes bears out your hypothesis that Miss Royce is, in fact, a mutation of the Perseid Embryo, and by all appearances a thoroughly stable one. The lack of menstruation supports your conjecture that she is infertile, which means that the potential for exploiting her genomes can be monopolized by Sauron.”

“The Russians can’t perform directed genetic modification and the Americans won’t.” Broome’s tone was simultaneously contemptuous and pleased.

“Idiots,” Voorhees declared. “A universe waiting for the hand of Man to reach out and grasp it and they twaddle over their absurd moralities and labor to keep human science in the dark ages with the suppression of scientific research. All because they think it will prevent a war that is, in fact, inevitable.”

All three were quiet for some time.

“They’re really going to do it, aren’t they?” Broome asked. Like all Sauron colonials, Broome was of North American ancestry. Her family tree had transplanted wholly to Sauron and, while it no longer had any significant branches left on Earth, loyalties ran deep in Sauron’s young culture The lack of a clear lineage did not make Broome indifferent to the fate of the twelve billion people still living on what even the most independence-minded Sauron still thought of as the Home World.

Voorhees’s expression was unreadable. “For the first time since the Great Exodus, people on colony worlds are seeking to return to Earth rather than escape from it. The greatest number of returnees have been from colonies settled by the former states of the old European Union: Churchill, Bismarck, Nueva España, Beau Monde…but even Tabletop and St. Ekaterina have lost reactionary elements who have returned to the Home World to ‘renew their allegiance’ to the U.S. or Russia, as it were. Publicly, less than half a dozen colonies have voiced any criticism of the nationalist sentiments that have been sweeping Earth for a decade.”

“And those openly in favor of the movements all think their “mother nation” could run things better than the Russo-American CoDominium,” Cavor said.

“Well, I suppose they wouldn’t be
nationalists
if they didn’t.” Voorhees sighed. He turned to Broome. “So, yes, Aishya, in answer to your question, I believe they are ‘really going to do it’. They’ll have their war, the war they’ve been preparing for ever since China died and the Russians re-created their Soviet Union from the remains. America and Russia simply cannot co-exist; it’s not in their cultural natures. One world isn’t big enough for them, and dozens of worlds only make them more keenly aware that who rules Earth rules all worlds.”

“Do you think their war will spread to the colonies?”

Voorhees shook his head. “Doubtful. The political balance is shifting toward increased power for the CoDominium Senate; and the stronger the Senate becomes, the weaker it makes the Russian and American coalition that created it. Earth’s nationalist movements are accelerating this process. Their war will fully establish the CoDominium Senate as the uncontested authority over human affairs. Even if the colonies objected to this—which they will not—a Russo-American war on Earth will be over before the colonies can participate in any way. Given the time constraints of Alderson Jumps, it’s likely such a war will be over before most of the colonies even know it has begun.”

“Either way,” Cavor said, “The CoDominium will be too busy to meddle in Sauron’s internal affairs.”

“What trickery?” Broome suddenly asked.

“Hmm?” Voorhees turned to her.

“The young girl in the Greek myth. What was the trickery used to get her to lose the race and marry against her vow?”

“Ah. I wondered if you’d catch that.” Voorhees finished his champagne. “A young suitor appealed to Aphrodite, the goddess of love, for a way to defeat the girl and win her hand. Aphrodite, being generally opposed to vows of chastity, gave him three golden apples of irresistible beauty to cast in the girl’s path during the race. Thus distracted, the girl stopped to collect each apple, falling further and further behind the boy, who won the race and her hand in marriage.”

“He didn’t win much of a bride if she was such a flighty creature as to be distracted by baubles,” Broome observed.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on her,” Voorhees said. “The apples were enchanted, after all. And solid gold, something of a commodity in the ancient world.”

The three friends laughed.

“I think I know that story,” Cavor spoke with a dawning realization. “Wasn’t the girl’s name—”

“‘Atalanta,’” Voorhees answered with a nod.

“So that’s where you got the name.” The tone of Cavor’s voice had gone from respectful to awed.

“Yes,” Voorhees admitted. “I changed it right after you two were brought in. The original ‘Perseus’ code name for the project seemed inappropriate once I learned of her gender and her exceptional attributes.”

Cavor frowned. “Too bad they can’t be allowed to return home,” he said with real regret.

“No,” Voorhees answered. “It would hardly do to release such breeding potential back into their general populations, beyond Sauron control. Besides, what really matters about them, their genetic potential, will be preserved and perpetuated through Sauron.”

“It occurred to me,” Broome said, “That the conclusion of this project will create an entirely new field in Sauron’s social organization.”

“Indeed?” Voorhees asked.

“This data will require an entire branch of professional eugenicists who will be dedicated solely to overseeing the genetic database of all Sauron citizens now and into any foreseeable future. They will have to be a highly trained caste, an authority unto themselves. Masters of breeding, as it were.”