Read Online Alien Earth by Megan Lindholm - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Lindholm
Tags: Fiction
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done. Deckenson wouldn’t be putting himself this much at risk if he didn’t have the cash to buy John’s silence.
The cash, or the force. John’s whole body suddenly felt very quiet and cold to him.
Deckenson set his stim down. “Earth Affirmed hasn’t been idle these past years. We’re not just beliefs and talk. Six years ago we applied for a colony permit. It was denied, of course. We were naively open about our purposes, and the Conservancy ruled us counterproductive. So we attempted a renegade colony in one of Castor’s wastelands; you needn’t know which. Nothing’s left of it, anyway. We were trying to see if, freed of the growth inhibitors we’ve all be ingesting since we were zygotes, Humans could recover enough to reach puberty, mate, and give live birth. It failed. We did managed three pregnancies, but two spontaneously aborted and the third ended in both mother and unborn child dying. But we believe natural fertilization could be accomplished, if we had more time, if we had access to younger children, fresh from the creches, and chose not to feed them the growth inhibitors and …”
“I don’t want to hear any more.” John felt chilled at the enormity of what Deckenson was telling him. It wasn’t so much what they had done; he didn’t particularly care what risks fanatics took or what deviations they performed upon their own bodies. No, it was the size of the crime he was confessing to John. Just listening to what Deckenson was saying and failing to report it would be construed as a crime meriting Readjustment. Forget Earth Affirmed. There had to be other work he could find for Evangeline. He stood.
“Of course not.” Deckenson stood with him, gesturing at a plant draping a window and nodded as he spoke, as if commenting only on it. “For you needn’t listen to me at all. Others will. I could start with something minor, say, by going to the Conservancy and reporting all those contraband entertainments you favor. It’s a shame you’d put your passion for collecting obsolete information over the good of the ecology. Didn’t you know that information hoarding directly leads to excessive possessions, and thus unfrugal consumerism? Both charges carry mandatory Adjustment sentences. And it’s been going on so long.”
John sank down into his chair slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.” Deckenson seated himself and pickedup his fork. “You’re a straightforward man, John. You think it’s luck when you happen to acquire some, uh, collector’s item of literature. Such good luck you have! Or such bad luck, as when Norwich suddenly drops your contract. It’s dawning on you now, isn’t it? We’ve had a ‘finger in your pie,’ to use an old idiom, for a long time. We’d hoped to draw you in gradually. But, those two little errands you did for us, way back when, must have spooked you. We’ve tried to take our time to regain your trust. But now we’ve come down to necessities. We know things about you; we’ve made it possible for you to do things you wanted to do, things the Conservancy frowns on. We’ve helped create who you are, John. And now we intend to use what we’ve created.”
John suddenly felt gravity sick. Everything was too heavy; he could scarcely keep his head up, and the food was a gelid mass in his novice stomach. He tried to keep his face expressionless, to speak calmly. “Deckenson. None of this is rational. It sounds like you’re threatening me, but I have no idea what you’re implying I’ve done.”
Deckenson lifted his small glass of stim again, sipped from it delicately. This time he appeared to enjoy it. “Interesting flavor. Originally an imitation of an old Earth drink; did you know that?” He raised his eyes to meet John’s. Deckenson’s eyes were pale and curiously unanimated, but he smiled slightly at John’s tense expression. “I told them you’d have to have it spelled out, one word at a time. It’s
The cash, or the force. John’s whole body suddenly felt very quiet and cold to him.
Deckenson set his stim down. “Earth Affirmed hasn’t been idle these past years. We’re not just beliefs and talk. Six years ago we applied for a colony permit. It was denied, of course. We were naively open about our purposes, and the Conservancy ruled us counterproductive. So we attempted a renegade colony in one of Castor’s wastelands; you needn’t know which. Nothing’s left of it, anyway. We were trying to see if, freed of the growth inhibitors we’ve all be ingesting since we were zygotes, Humans could recover enough to reach puberty, mate, and give live birth. It failed. We did managed three pregnancies, but two spontaneously aborted and the third ended in both mother and unborn child dying. But we believe natural fertilization could be accomplished, if we had more time, if we had access to younger children, fresh from the creches, and chose not to feed them the growth inhibitors and …”
“I don’t want to hear any more.” John felt chilled at the enormity of what Deckenson was telling him. It wasn’t so much what they had done; he didn’t particularly care what risks fanatics took or what deviations they performed upon their own bodies. No, it was the size of the crime he was confessing to John. Just listening to what Deckenson was saying and failing to report it would be construed as a crime meriting Readjustment. Forget Earth Affirmed. There had to be other work he could find for Evangeline. He stood.
“Of course not.” Deckenson stood with him, gesturing at a plant draping a window and nodded as he spoke, as if commenting only on it. “For you needn’t listen to me at all. Others will. I could start with something minor, say, by going to the Conservancy and reporting all those contraband entertainments you favor. It’s a shame you’d put your passion for collecting obsolete information over the good of the ecology. Didn’t you know that information hoarding directly leads to excessive possessions, and thus unfrugal consumerism? Both charges carry mandatory Adjustment sentences. And it’s been going on so long.”
John sank down into his chair slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.” Deckenson seated himself and pickedup his fork. “You’re a straightforward man, John. You think it’s luck when you happen to acquire some, uh, collector’s item of literature. Such good luck you have! Or such bad luck, as when Norwich suddenly drops your contract. It’s dawning on you now, isn’t it? We’ve had a ‘finger in your pie,’ to use an old idiom, for a long time. We’d hoped to draw you in gradually. But, those two little errands you did for us, way back when, must have spooked you. We’ve tried to take our time to regain your trust. But now we’ve come down to necessities. We know things about you; we’ve made it possible for you to do things you wanted to do, things the Conservancy frowns on. We’ve helped create who you are, John. And now we intend to use what we’ve created.”
John suddenly felt gravity sick. Everything was too heavy; he could scarcely keep his head up, and the food was a gelid mass in his novice stomach. He tried to keep his face expressionless, to speak calmly. “Deckenson. None of this is rational. It sounds like you’re threatening me, but I have no idea what you’re implying I’ve done.”
Deckenson lifted his small glass of stim again, sipped from it delicately. This time he appeared to enjoy it. “Interesting flavor. Originally an imitation of an old Earth drink; did you know that?” He raised his eyes to meet John’s. Deckenson’s eyes were pale and curiously unanimated, but he smiled slightly at John’s tense expression. “I told them you’d have to have it spelled out, one word at a time. It’s
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