Analog Science Fiction and Fact - June 2013

ANALOG
table. “So very sorry.”
Faster than Rikki could offer, Li said, “We’ll
save some dinner for you.”
Rikki’s thoughts—and her gut—churned.
Hands. That’s all we are to these children.
What will they be like when they grow up?
Once again, Carlos returned his attention to
the chicken. Blake set off toward the kitchen,
perhaps for something he could eat while at
the childcare center. Antonio, taking a serving
bowl from the cart, managed to knock the salad
tongs to the floor. He headed to the
kitchen for, presumably, another set. Dana
studied the forest scene.
The sudden silence was deafening.
It was as though Rikki had never spoken. As
though she weren’t even here. “We’re running
the universe’s biggest, most impersonal orphanage,”
she said.
Leaning across the table, Li patted Rikki’s
hand. “This isn’t about ‘the children,’ you
know.”
Rikki yanked away her hand. “Enlighten me.
What is it about?”
“A particular child.”
A nonexistent child. Though Rikki hated to
admit it, even to herself, Li might be right.
There could be no denying the clanging of
Rikki’s biological clock, but she refused to accept
that she was a slave to it. She leaned back
in her chair, trying to be objective, to separate
motivations, to sort out her feelings. And ended
up worried: Do I crave pregnancy for a
sense of worth?
Li was responsible for everyone’s health,
from day-to-day bumps and bruises to reversing
the endless complications that cropped up
in the wombs, from everyone’s psychological
wellbeing to assuring that their agricultural
programs would satisfy the colony’s long-term
nutritional needs.
Dana had her ship to pilot, to keep them
supplied with phosphates and metals and
everything else not readily found or mined on
the ground. Blake had the ship to keep flying,
and a thousand other gadgets from tractors to
chicken-feed dryers to design, build, and
maintain. Carlos reprogrammed synth vats and
nanites, built specialty medical gear for Li, and
constructed and maintained the steadily growing
number of artificial wombs.
Whereas Antonio and I are manual labor.
Diaper changers and field hands.
Did Antonio ever feel insignificant, too? He
shouldn’t. But for him, they would never have
escaped the GRB. His rock collection might
serve no more purpose than his blueberry obsession,
but at least he had interests.
I don’t have laurels or interests to fall back
on. Just survivor’s guilt.
The colony would have much brighter
prospects if Hawthorne had sent a farmer or
miner in her stead. Of what use to anyone was
a science historian? Of what earthly use . . .
“Are you all right, dear?” Li asked.
“We’re bringing up the next generation like
strays and foundlings. I don’t like it.”
Li’s sad smile might have been intended to
convey no more than, “What choice do we
have?” but Rikki read it as, “Queen Li knows
best.”
I need purpose, Rikki decided. Something I
can contribute. Something of my own. Something
important.
In a flash of insight, she knew what that
something would be.
Chapter 29
The six of them had not discussed terraforming
since before landing. Why would
they? Dark was a terrestrial world.
But, Rikki decided, maybe they should.
Techniques that had been making Mars habitable
could also make a difference on Dark. It
was more than a matter of personal comfort:
the crops that struggled here might thrive in a
warmer climate. And she could give them that
warmer climate: designer perfluorocarbons
were incredibly effective as climate agents,
some thousands of times more potent as
greenhouse gases than carbon dioxide.
Nor would they need to pump much PFC
into the atmosphere to begin altering the climate.
Twentieth-century industries had, in a
few short decades, without meaning to, almost
destroyed Earth’s ozone layer with chemically
similar chlorofluorocarbons.
She began making order of magnitude estimates
in her head—
And stopped. She was getting ahead of herself.
The first rule of terraforming was, don’t
meddle with what you don’t understand.
She didn’t understand Dark. None of them
did. They had experienced their share of
weather, but four local years was too brief a
time to reveal anything reliable about climate.
76 EDWARD M. LERNER