Authors: Kathryn Lance
Pandora's Genes
| Pandora's Genes |
| Kathryn Lance |
| REPLICA BOOKS (1985) |
In this absorbing and unique novel, Kathryn Lance asks how far the folly of mankind can go, how much science can be substituted for nature before the imbalance proves disastrous. In a world of the future, great machines lie rusting as their fuel has finally run out and humanity faces the possibility of extinction as altered strands of DNA run rampant through the gene pool. Several forces emerge, each hoping to be humanity's saving grace, but which one will ultimately save the world?
The Principal: a brilliant leader fighting to keep a tide of savagery from decimating social structures. The religious cultists: operating on an anti-science platform, promising to rebuild society according to an older, pure model free of the technology that proved to be mankind's downfall. The Garden: a group of female scientists who live cloistered lives, searching for genetic solutions to the world's problems. Two young lovers are caught in a situation they cannot control, desperate to find a way to be together forever.
Legal Notices
This novel is a work of fiction. All of the people, places, businesses, and events portrayed in this novel are either based on the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Even though the names of real locations may be used in certain parts of this book, none of the people, places, businesses, or events referred to in any of those locales are intended to represent any relationship with any real events. Any and all occurrences in this book are completely unrelated to the actions of any real persons, places, businesses, or events and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real businesses or institutions or to any actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 Kathryn Lance
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Excerpt from
Pandora’s Children
Zach, a good man in a dangerous world, is sent to fetch the beautiful young Evvy for The Principal, the charismatic but flawed leader of a struggling post-apocalyptic society. But when Evvy saves Zach’s life he realizes he cannot carry out his mission and must turn his back on all he has ever believed and worked for. In 1986, Locus raved that
Pandora’s Genes
“has a plot Shakespeare would have loved, in a setting after Edgar Pangborn. As a first novel, this stands above the crowd.” Named Locus Recommended List and Best New Science Fiction Writer, Romance Times, 1986.
Cover design by Glenace Melton
Kindle layout by K. P. Badertscher
One
H
E KNEW THEY HAD BEEN
expecting him. When Zach rode into the dusty yard, scattering the fowl, a face almost immediately appeared in the small window at the front of the cabin, and another peeked from behind a corner. Slowly, he climbed down and tethered his mount to the wooden rail which ran along one side of the house, then stretched to get the stiffness out of his limbs. It had been a very long ride, and he was not young.
The door opened and a small man stepped out, dressed in leather trousers and a worn cotton tunic. He was followed by a woman, also wearing trousers in the northern fashion. A dirty boy-child clung to her, sucking his thumb.
“Yes, stranger?” said the man.
“Marson and Eugenia?” The little man grunted assent. “I am Zach, delegate of the Principal. You were told to expect me.” He showed his seal ring.
“The arrangements have all been made?” The little man looked at once nervous and greedy.
“Yes.” The man relaxed and stole a glance at his wife. She looked away. Zach spoke again: “The girl is ready?” The man nodded. The three stood for a moment, not looking directly at one another, then the woman turned to her husband.
“He must be tired and hungry,” she said.
The little man grimaced slightly, not hiding his distaste at sharing hospitality with Zach. Clearly this was not a question of thrift – it was obvious the family had barely enough for themselves, but like District people everywhere they would be honor-bound to share with a visitor. This was not the first time Zach had been hated while in service to the Principal, and it would not be the last.
“Come inside.” Marson abruptly turned and followed his wife through the door. Zach had to duck his head and, once inside, found he could not stand up quite straight except to one side of the long room. It was large and bare, with fresh rushes spread over the packed-dirt floor. Most of the space was overhung with a loft which dropped perhaps twenty inches from the roof. This appeared to be used by the family for sleeping. Although his head cleared the bottom edge of the loft, Zach could not see anything beyond darkness and heaped bedding. A long table flanked by benches, two rickety stools, a loom, and a straight-backed rocking chair completed the furnishings. At the far end of the room was a large fireplace, with a heavy metal cooking pot set on a rack.
“Sit,” said Marson, offering Zach the chair.
“Thank you,” said Zach. He settled gingerly onto the wooden seat, which was barely large enough to hold him, while Marson and his wife sat side by side on one of the benches. Now he noticed small pairs of eyes staring at him in curiosity and fear. He counted five children; with the girl, that made six, and from the look of the woman a seventh was on the way. For her sake, he hoped it was not a girl. The silence was surprising: the children seemed spiritless, perhaps from malnutrition.
“If I may impose on your hospitality, I prefer to begin the trip back in the morning,” said Zach. “There are at most two hours of light left.”
“Yes, of course,” said Marson.
“That means we have her one more night,” said the woman.
“Be quiet!” said Marson.
The woman looked at him angrily, seemed about to speak, then turned to Zach. “We have no bed to offer you,” she said.
“I’m happy to have a roof over my head,” said Zach.
“How long a journey is it to the Capital?” asked the oldest boy. He had been working at the loom and looked to be about ten years old.
“Not far if you could get there directly,” said Zach. “But the going is slow through bat country. After that, it’s best to follow the river south and east. By foot, it would take a very long time. By mount it took me just under ten days, riding hard, to get here.”
“How did you find us?”
“The Principal’s tax men are preparing maps of the entire District. They have marked every town and cabin in this sector.”
“That way they don’t miss squeezing anyone,” said Marson. “No matter how poor.”
“Marson!” hissed the woman.
Zach pretended he had not heard the exchange. He didn’t blame the little man; taxes were necessary for building the District and securing it, but the burden seemed to fall most heavily on the very poor.
To cover his embarrassment, Zach opened his leather pouch. “Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.
“Please,” said the woman.
As Zach tamped new-smoke into his pipe, the older boy came closer. His dark blue eyes were enormous as he studied Zach and his trappings. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the delicate feathers which poked up from Zach’s pouch.
“Don’t bother him, Daiv,” said Marson.
“I don’t mind,” said Zach. He opened his pouch and pulled out a narrow instrument made of thin, polished pieces of dark red wood. Between the two end pieces were stretched six double strings, their splendidly feathered ends fastened with bone pegs. “This is a feathered lyre,” he told the boy. “The strings are made from the tail feathers of a new bird that lives in the south and can’t fly. The ends of the feathers are very strong and stretchable, like hair. When I pull on a string, like this, it makes a tone.” He demonstrated, and the cabin was suddenly filled with the haunting moan of the feathered lyre. No one spoke as the sound slowly faded.
Zach put the instrument away, then lit his pipe with a glowing piece of kindling from the fire and sat puffing, wishing that he weren’t here, wishing that the Principal had not asked this of him. But, of course, Zach was the only man he could trust on this mission. It was strange how two men who were so close could be so different, in the most important ways. Of course, the Principal had always maintained that they were more alike than Zach ever cared to admit. Zach’s mind drifted with the new-smoke and was gradually pulled back to the long room by the aroma of cooking food, and by the bustling of the woman as she set the table with bread, drinking gourds, and wooden bowls.
“Will you have brew with dinner?” asked Marson.
Zach hesitated. Clearly brew was something precious to the man, and just as clearly he did not really want to share it; but to refuse would be an insult, and besides, after the long, grueling ride Zach craved the bitter taste and relaxing warmth.
“Yes, please,” he said. Marson bowed his head slightly and disappeared outside.
The boys squirmed themselves onto a long bench which barely seated all of them. The oldest, Daiv, was the only one who seemed able to look at Zach for more than a few seconds at a time. Marson returned with a large stoppered crock and two pottery tankards, and poured.
“To your health,” said Zach, raising his tankard. Marson lifted his but didn’t speak. The brew was surprisingly good, as fresh as any he had tasted in the Capital. “Did you make this yourself?”
Marson nodded. “My father was a brewer. I was to follow in his footsteps, but outlaws took the town and we were burned out. There’s not much market for the stuff here, or much time for brewing.”
“You have the touch,” said Zach. “Perhaps someday you’ll be able to put it to use.”
“Not likely, living as we do,” said Marson. “Good ingredients are too rare, and too expensive. For this batch I used real corn – we traded last fair day for some beets we’d grown.”
“It’s excellent,” Zach repeated. He now tasted the stew, which was thin and mealy and seemed to consist largely of beets and unidentifiable greens, and what might once have been fowl. “The stew is good too,” he said. “Thank you, mistress.”
“We’re happy to share,” the woman said. Then, leaning across the table, she whispered to the oldest boy. “Daiv, take a bowl up to your sister. She’s hardly eaten for two days.”
Zach watched as the boy disappeared up the rough ladder to the loft.
“I’ve heard the Principal plans to expand trade,” said Marson.
“That’s true,” said Zach. “The first step is building better roads. Once they’ve come into this region, it’s possible that you could set up a brewery and inn. Such places exist now closer to the Capital.”
Marson grunted. “You put all your work into something, try to build it up, and outlaws take over. No, thank you.”
“That is what the Principal is trying to prevent,” said Zach. “The risk of outlaws goes down as more people move into an area. The Principal hopes to extend civilization to all corners of the District and beyond.”
“Civilization,” muttered Marson. “That’s what got us into the mess we have now.”
Zach had no answer. Marson was about to speak again when there was a sudden, piercing, feminine cry of “No!” and a thumping noise, followed by “Deenas take you, Evvy!” There was another thump, and then Daiv descended the ladder, holding the bowl, its contents soaking the front of his tunic.
