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Even before AS treatment had started to fail him, Uvarov had declared war on the lethal genes which were killing him. He and his followers had occupied the forest Deck, effectively sealing it off. He sent his people into the forest and told them that they would have a simple life: take nourishment from the forest, make simple tools. AS treatment was abandoned, and within a few years the forest floor and canopy were alive with the voices of children. Then, Uvarov banned any reproduction before the age of forty. Uvarov had enforced his rule with iron discipline; stalking through the forest, or ascending, grim-faced, into the canopy, Uvarov and a team of close followers had performed several quick, neat abortions. After some generations of this, he pushed the conception limit up to forty-five. Then fifty. The population in the forest dipped, but slowly started to recover. And, gradually, the lethal genes were eliminated from the gene pool. Over time, some contact a kind of implicit trade opened up between the inhabitants of the lower levels and the jungle folk. But there was no incursion from below, no will to break open Deck Zero. And so, with iron determination, Uvarov enforced his huge experiment, century after century. Arrow Maker and Spinner-of-Rope face-painted, young-old pygmies were the extraordinary result. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Milpitas listened, apparently bemused, as Uvarov ranted. "When I started this work the average lifespan, without AS, was about a hundred. Now we have individualsover two hundred and fifty years old..." Spittle looped across his toothless mouth. "A thousand AS years isn't enough. Ten thousand wouldn't suffice. I'm talking about changing the nature of thespecies, man..." Milpitas laughed at him. "Was there ever a more obsessive control of any unfortunate population than that? To deny the benefits of AS to so many generations " The Planner shook his bare, scarred head. "To waste so much human potential, so many 'mute, inglorious Miltons'..." "I'm transforming the species itself," Uvarov hissed. "And it's working, damn you. Arrow Maker, here " he cast about vaguely " is eighty years old.Eighty. Look at him. By successively breeding out the lethal genes, I've " "If your program was so laudable, then why did you feel it necessary to barricade yourself into the forest Deck?" Morrow, helpless, felt as if he had wandered into an old, worn-out argument. He remembered his last interview with Milpitas, in which Milpitas had calmly and consistently denied the reality of the society above Deck One: a society whose independent existence had been obvious long before Arrow Maker and the others came firing darts down through the opened hatches of the Locks. And now even when confronted with Uvarov and these painted primitives Milpitas seemed unable to break away from his own restricted world-view. Uvarov was noisy, of alien appearance, visibly half-insane, and locked inside a partial, incomplete yet utterly inflexible mind-set. Milpitas, by contrast, was calm, his manner and speech ordered, controlled. And yet, Morrow reflected uneasily, Milpitas was, in his way, just as rigid in his thinking, just as willing to reject the evidence of his senses. We're a frozen society,Morrow thought gloomily.Intellectually dead. Maybe Uvarov is right about mind-sets. Perhaps we're all insane, after this long flight. And yet and yet, if Uvarov is correct about the end of the flight then perhaps we can't afford to remain this way much longer. With a sense of desperation, he turned to Milpitas. "You must listen to him. The situation's changed, Planner. The ship " Milpitas ignored him. He looked weary. "I'm growing bored with this. I will ask my question once more. And then you will leave. All of you. "Uvarov, why have you come here?" Uvarov wheeled his chair forward; Morrow heard a dull thud as the chair frame collided softly with Milpitas' desk. "Survivalist," he said,"the journey is over." Milpitas frowned. "What journey?" "The flight of theGreat Northern. Our odyssey through rime, and space, to the end of history." His ruined face twisted. "I hate to admit it, but our factionalism serves no more purpose. Now, we have to work together to reach the wormhole Interface, and " "Why," Milpitas asked steadily, "do you believe the journey is over?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "BecauseI've seen the stars." "Impossible," Milpitas snapped. "Your eyes are gone. You're insane, Uvarov." "My people " Uvarov's voice dried to a croak. Spinner-of-Rope stepped forward, took a wooden bowl of water from a rack within the body of the chair, and allowed a little of the fluid to trickle into Uvarov's cavern of a mouth. "My people are my eyes," Uvarov said, gasping. "Arrow Maker climbed the tallest tree and studied the stars. Iknow, Milpitas. And I understand." Milpitas' eyes narrowed. "You understand nothing." He glanced, briefly and dismissively, at Arrow [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |