Analog Science Fiction and Fact - June 2013

from the kitchen pushing a serving cart. With
the grand flourish of a magician, he raised the
domed cover.
The roast chicken’s skin was a crackly, golden
brown. Clear juices oozed from punctures
where he must have tested the bird’s doneness
with a fork.
Rikki’s mouth started to water.
Nor did the feast end with the chicken. The
greenhouse had contributed everything for a
tossed salad: lettuce, tomatoes, peppers,
onions, and cucumbers. There were baked
potatoes, too, with synthed butter and dollops
of faux sour cream. There were bowls of what
looked like chocolate pudding.
When Carlos began carving the chicken, his
hands were steady. If nothing else, the man
could hold his liquor.
What were they celebrating, Rikki wondered,
beyond Li’s largesse with the bounty to
which everyone but she contributed?
“It’s a shame,” Rikki began, sadness and sudden
anger commingling.
Carlos stopped carving. Heads turned toward
Rikki.
“Tonight feels like a Sunday family dinner.
Only there’s no family.”
“We’re family,” Li said.
“Of course,” Rikki said. “But I’m thinking
bigger. I’m thinking of the children.”
I’m thinking of bonding with them, or,
rather, them bonding with us. Only Li doesn’t
see it. Li spends her days with the children,
and they love her just fine.
Silence. Beneath the table, Blake gave Rikki’s
knee a pat. Maybe he meant it as comfort.
It felt patronizing.
Forget your wish upon a star, fella.
Rikki plunged ahead. “We don’t treat those
kids—our kids—much different than the
chickens in that egg factory down the street.
We feed them and clean up after them like
they’re on some sort of production line. Apart
from regular baths, they might as well be
chickens.”
“Except that we don’t eat the children,”
Carlos said dryly, as he resumed carving.
Dana asked, “What do you have in mind,
Rikki?”
“Dinner is the only time we’re together,”
she answered. “We should eat with the kids.
We should let them hear genuine conversation
among adults, not abdicate to Marvin teaching
DARK SECRET
JUNE 2013
them to speak.” And so much else.
“That’s seventy children.” Li answered in
the slow, calm, reasoned manner that drove
Rikki up the wall, in the affected tone of voice
that reminded: I’m the professional here. That
reminded: they love me. “This year we’ll add
another sixty, more or less.”
“And we want all of them to be civilized,”
Rikki said. “Or they’ll be fighting like the
chickens, too.”
“Because during a sixteen-hour work day,
on a short day, I would never think to speak to
the children,” Li said.
Spoken calmly and reasonably, damn the
woman.
“We control the rate of births,” Rikki said,
“not the other way around. We shouldn’t”—
we mustn’t!—“let an arbitrary decision shape
how we bring up these kids.”
“It’s not arbitrary,” Antonio said. “If we
don’t . . . raise the children while we’re still
alive, with firsthand knowledge of technology,
culture, and civilization, they’ll be savages.
If that should happen, they . . . won’t long outlive
us.”
Carlos again stopped carving to offer, “And
we need genetic diversity.”
More variety within your future harem, Carlos?
Rikki bit her tongue. The children having
children, no matter with whom, would not
become an issue for years. She said, “They’ll
be savages if we don’t slow down the pace, if
we don’t invest the effort to make them something
better.”
If we don’t show them love.
“I agree with Rikki on this,” Blake said.
On this? What hadn’t made the cut?
“I’ve made a suggestion,” Rikki said. “Let’s
discuss it.”
“We have discussed it,” Carlos said. “You’ve
been told why it’s impractical to—”
Dana cleared her throat. “Let’s discuss options
first. We could bring a few kids every
evening. Rotate them through, making sure
each child sees something like a normal family
setting at least once a month. See how they
fare in a social setting. Learn how we have to
adapt.”
Blake’s pocket trilled; tonight was his turn
on call. He took out the folded datasheet,
glanced at it, and stood. “Sorry, people. Marvin
needs hands in the nursery.” He gazed
with longing at the feast, not yet even on the
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