cells. And I don’t know how they thought they’d feed all those animals, much less themselves.”
Cesar frowns, pushing his fork around his plate, chasing beans and bits of salsa slowly. Unsure of whether he wants to break in to Argos’s story, he says, “I saw some bad things in my travels. Empty orbitals filled with the wreckage of some story we never knew the beginning of. This sounds like the start of one of those ghost stories we never liked to tell. Did any of them survive to the end of the War?”
He takes a swallow of beer and smiles with pure pleasure. Ithacans brewed their own beer and he’s never forgotten the taste. Plus, the cold liquid feels good against his dry throat as the bottle cools his hand, sweaty from the heat of the day.
“Some of them did. More than we thought,” allows Argos. “A few of their carnivores got loose and wiped out a lot of the crew and their livestock. Big shock, right? But those hippy kids turned out tougher than we gave them credit for.”
Penelope clears her throat. “We tried to help where we could. Took in some of their people and their stock, but there’s only so much room.”
“I was wearing my knees out praying for those loco bobos ,” Lupe announces. “But I wouldn’t give a spit for their chances, until that little splicer boy showed up. Without him, they’d just be dust rolling around in a dead orbital, like lint in a clothes dryer.”
“Oh?” Cesar asks, looking between them.
Argos and Penelope both nod.
“Yes,” says Penelope. “That boy showed up on some hunk of junk tinker ship one day with a box of equipment under his arm like their own personal Jesus Christ. Took over the colony and turned it into one of the most valued exporters of small herbivores above the world and down on it.”
Gene splicers are rare and treated like gods in the orbitals because they have, time and again, saved whole colonies from certain extinction. They can whip up a shrubbery that will conserve water and cure a disease that’s crippling your colony at the same time. On Earth, splicers are still scorned and, in some areas, imprisoned and killed for practicing their genetic arts. But in the Spacer colonies, to cause the death of a good splicer would bring down the wrath of the sky.
Trevor blurts out, “They sell cashmere gerbils and milk koalas. They’ve got attack chinchillas too, but Mom won’t let me get one.” He cast a sullen look at his mother.
She wrinkles her nose, “They give me the creeps. They’ve got those huge yellow eyes and teeth the size of my hand.”
Cesar laughs quietly.
Lupe starts clearing away the dishes while the others still pick at the remains of their lunch. Penelope bends forward to explain to Cesar, “He came because of all the endangered species. He said it was like a treasure chest of genetic material just sitting up there, waiting for him. For the first year, he was like a kid in a candy factory, turning out all kinds of strange critters. Very interesting boy. A man now, I guess. He’ll be here this Saturday, I think?”
She looks at Lupe as she asks this. Lupe nods with a smile. Cesar finds himself grinding his teeth, watching them smiling over this brilliant young man.
“Can I get some more beans and queso ?” he asks. “Hadn’t had anything that good in years. I never tasted TexMex this good and I been down to the Earth a time or two.”
Lupe puffs up with pride and dishes him up an enormous third helping of everything. Cesar wolfs it down enthusiastically.
Penelope laughs, “Well, gringo , it’s not like there’s a whole lot places in the heavens or the Earth to get real guacamole these days, is there? Now that Mexico is just one big smoking hole in the ground. When I first got here, I remember Lupe telling me that there was no point in living in the stars if the food sucks.”
Argos chuckles at that and then asks, “Lupe, have you ever cooked anything that didn’t involve beans, tortillas, or
Cesar frowns, pushing his fork around his plate, chasing beans and bits of salsa slowly. Unsure of whether he wants to break in to Argos’s story, he says, “I saw some bad things in my travels. Empty orbitals filled with the wreckage of some story we never knew the beginning of. This sounds like the start of one of those ghost stories we never liked to tell. Did any of them survive to the end of the War?”
He takes a swallow of beer and smiles with pure pleasure. Ithacans brewed their own beer and he’s never forgotten the taste. Plus, the cold liquid feels good against his dry throat as the bottle cools his hand, sweaty from the heat of the day.
“Some of them did. More than we thought,” allows Argos. “A few of their carnivores got loose and wiped out a lot of the crew and their livestock. Big shock, right? But those hippy kids turned out tougher than we gave them credit for.”
Penelope clears her throat. “We tried to help where we could. Took in some of their people and their stock, but there’s only so much room.”
“I was wearing my knees out praying for those loco bobos ,” Lupe announces. “But I wouldn’t give a spit for their chances, until that little splicer boy showed up. Without him, they’d just be dust rolling around in a dead orbital, like lint in a clothes dryer.”
“Oh?” Cesar asks, looking between them.
Argos and Penelope both nod.
“Yes,” says Penelope. “That boy showed up on some hunk of junk tinker ship one day with a box of equipment under his arm like their own personal Jesus Christ. Took over the colony and turned it into one of the most valued exporters of small herbivores above the world and down on it.”
Gene splicers are rare and treated like gods in the orbitals because they have, time and again, saved whole colonies from certain extinction. They can whip up a shrubbery that will conserve water and cure a disease that’s crippling your colony at the same time. On Earth, splicers are still scorned and, in some areas, imprisoned and killed for practicing their genetic arts. But in the Spacer colonies, to cause the death of a good splicer would bring down the wrath of the sky.
Trevor blurts out, “They sell cashmere gerbils and milk koalas. They’ve got attack chinchillas too, but Mom won’t let me get one.” He cast a sullen look at his mother.
She wrinkles her nose, “They give me the creeps. They’ve got those huge yellow eyes and teeth the size of my hand.”
Cesar laughs quietly.
Lupe starts clearing away the dishes while the others still pick at the remains of their lunch. Penelope bends forward to explain to Cesar, “He came because of all the endangered species. He said it was like a treasure chest of genetic material just sitting up there, waiting for him. For the first year, he was like a kid in a candy factory, turning out all kinds of strange critters. Very interesting boy. A man now, I guess. He’ll be here this Saturday, I think?”
She looks at Lupe as she asks this. Lupe nods with a smile. Cesar finds himself grinding his teeth, watching them smiling over this brilliant young man.
“Can I get some more beans and queso ?” he asks. “Hadn’t had anything that good in years. I never tasted TexMex this good and I been down to the Earth a time or two.”
Lupe puffs up with pride and dishes him up an enormous third helping of everything. Cesar wolfs it down enthusiastically.
Penelope laughs, “Well, gringo , it’s not like there’s a whole lot places in the heavens or the Earth to get real guacamole these days, is there? Now that Mexico is just one big smoking hole in the ground. When I first got here, I remember Lupe telling me that there was no point in living in the stars if the food sucks.”
Argos chuckles at that and then asks, “Lupe, have you ever cooked anything that didn’t involve beans, tortillas, or
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