Playing God (52 page)
“I'm fine. Would you like to sit down?” He gestured toward one of the perfectly ergonomic chairs scattered tastefully around the room.
“Thanks.” She perched on the edge of the seat, defying all its ergonomic potential. Something in that sight made him smile inwardly.
“How are you doing?” He sank back into the chair in front of the comm station. “What's happening with…” He found he wasn't quite sure how to refer to the fact that Lynn had given the Dedelphi the contingency plans, which they were now dangling over Bioverse's collective head with sobering results.
Lynn gave him a half smile. “The investigation into who obtained a copy of the contingency plans is ongoing,” she said. “The chief of security is taking charge of it himself.”
“Ah.” Arron nodded. Then, he said, “You look tired.”
She rubbed her scalp. She had about three centimeters of auburn stubble covering her scalp. “I've just been planetside to see Praeis. She's gone through the Change.”
Arron murmured sympathetically. “That's hard.”
Lynn watched herself rub her palms together. “I think she recognized me.”
“Sometimes they get flashes, if they have really strong, long-term memories about a person.”
“That's what David said.” She glanced up at him. “I'm not sure whether that's a good thing in this case.” She shook her head. “I keep wishing I'd had a chance to, I don't know, say good-bye while she could still hear me.”
“Theia heard you, I'm sure,” Arron said, more or less automatically. If Lynn was looking for comfort, he'd try to give it, of course, but he didn't have much left. Surely she had to see that.
“Yeah, she did. She's going to be all right. They've put her on the Council of True Blood, and you know what? I think the other Councilors are a little afraid of her.”
Arron raised his brows. “That could be a double-edged sword.”
“I know, but I think she's going to handle it. She's already spent most of her annual budget sending for half of Crater Town to come in and help. The Confederation squawked, but then she pointed out how much better they'd feel with more than one person around who knew how to work with the Humans’ communication web.”
Arron nodded in agreement that this was indeed a smart move. Maybe it was his silence that made Lynn really look at him.
“Are your… friends going to Crater Town, then?”
Arron nodded. “I don't know what you and Theia said to the town council or the Bioverse seniors, but they're all being allowed in. Apparently a new hole's being developed, and if they're willing to shoulder the work, they can have most of it.”
“Are you going with them?” asked Lynn softly.
Arron spread his hands. “What else am I going to do? They're my sisters.”
Lynn opened her mouth and shut it again. “Of course.”
He wasn't sure whether she meant it or not, but the fact that she wasn't going to argue the point made him feel a bit better. “Is Bioverse going to make a noise over what happened?”
Lynn shook her head. “Surprisingly, no. They got the ship back, mostly intact. The troublemakers are going away. The Sisters-Chosen-to-Lead have convinced everyone they really didn't know what was going on.” They exchanged a glance over that one, but neither of them said anything. “Besides which, the Confederation has quietly said they'd rather a noise not be made over it, and Bioverse is very sensitive to what the Confederation says these days.”
Arron felt himself smile. “I should think so.”
They looked at each other. He saw that Lynn still had dark rings under her eyes and felt the weariness that still weighed down his own muscles.
Lynn must have been thinking something similar. She gave him a wry grin. “We should be cheering, Arron. We both won.”
“Yeah, we did.” He rubbed his forearm. “I just hope the Dedelphi won with us.”
Lynn shrugged. “We'll find out.” She paused. “When are you leaving?”
“Not until tomorrow. There's a delay while Keale makes sure everybody is reregistered and ID'd under their proper names.”
Her tone grew tentative. “I was wondering if you'd like to come have dinner with me and David?”
Arron started. He chided himself for being so surprised, even while he said, “Are you sure?”
Lynn nodded. “I want us to be friends again, Arron.” She leaned forward. “Come meet my partner. Come sit on my couch and drink microbrew and have stupid arguments with me. Don't leave me in silence for another ten years.”
He smiled, a real smile this time, reflecting the warmth he felt in his veins. “I won't, Lynn. Not again.”
She stood up and so did he, and she took his arm, Dedelphi-style. “Come on then, Sister.”
“We are tired of fighting. We don't want to kill anymore. But the others are treacherous and cannot be trusted.”
—Edward O. Wilson,
On Human Nature
W
hen creating any culture in a work of science fiction, the author is repeatedly forced to ask the question, “How did it get this way?” When I created the Dedelphi, one of the many “its” I had to think about was their violence.
Violence is a complex issue. It exists on many levels, from the interpersonal to intergroup to international. Its origins are a mix of genetic predisposition, environmental and cultural reinforcement, and personal conscious choice.
In the case of the Dedelphi, the genetic predisposition to violence evolved first from balancing the need to protect oneself and one's children with the need to protect one's sister and her children. The Dedelphi are essentially a race of identical twins. Sisters from the same “bearing” share identical genetic material. If the theory that living beings are geared toward passing on their own genes to their offspring is correct, a Dedelphi sister's children are as valuable in this regard as her own children, because her sister shares most, if not all, of her genetic heritage. Her sister, in reproductive terms, becomes her second (or third or fourth) self, an additional chance for her genes to be passed on. Protecting and sharing resources with that other self, and that other self's children, increases the chance of genetic survival. This creates an increased sense of protectiveness toward the family, and a decreased self-preservation instinct.
These conditions led to a very tightly knit family structure, which was exacerbated by the fact that their world had few large continents. Most clans live on an island or archipelago where there is only the extended family. For long periods in their prehistory, Dedelphi clans did not interact with other groups. When another group was encountered, it was generally when the clan was in search of new space or resources. The native group would want to preserve all the available resources for their sisters, while the new group would want to take some (or all) of those resources for their sisters. This competition for available resources led to intergroup violence, which spun itself out down the generations, fueled by individual anger at harms done.
To further the problem, the males in the strangers’ clan could easily be seen as desirable resources. Dedelphi males invest all their remaining physical resources in reproducing. They do not retain any discrimination: If one clan's males are removed, they will mate as easily with strangers as with their own clan.
As did early humans, early Dedelphi had a basic understanding of the need to outbreed. So, when a group of strangers arrived on a populated island, they would find not just food and space, but new genetic material for themselves and their sisters. Sisters and mothers raised the children. The father's family was not as necessary for resource and parenting assistance as it is in primates, which have primarily single births. This makes the cost of offending the father's family relatively small. The evolutionary balancing act became increasingly complicated, especially considering that only one sister of an entire family had to survive to pass on the majority of the family's genes, as well as its individual traditions. Violence was costly in terms of personal and group resources, as well as individual lives, but not as costly as it might have been in another species. What was initially an evolutionary possibility became a cultural custom. Through 100,000 years of biological and cultural evolution, strangers became enemies, and the need to protect one's sisters and their children became paramount.
All societies that evolve violent survival strategies (at least, all the ones we know about) also evolve rules about who may be hurt or killed, and under what conditions. If a culture is not completely suicidal, some concept of peace, friendship, or trust must exist side by side with the violence. With the concept of killing comes the concept of not killing. The existence of these ideas can give a freedom of choice to individuals in their daily interactions, even when those are with strangers. The ultimate question is, Which way will the balance tip: toward evolutionary predisposition, cultural conditioning, or individual choice?
—Sarah Zettel
Ann Arbor, 1998
Sarah Zettel was born in Sacramento, California. She began writing stories in the fourth grade and never stopped. Her interest in writing has followed her through ten cities, four states, two countries, and one college, where she earned a B.A. in Communications.
Sarah Zettel's debut work,
Reclamation,
received the Locus Award for Best First Novel and was a finalist for the Philip K. Dick Award, her second novel, Fool's
War,
was a
New York Times
Notable Book of 1997. Her third novel,
Playing God,
was named by the New York Public Library a Best Book for the Teen Age in 1999. When not actually writing, Sarah sings, dances, and plays the hammered dulcimer, although not all at once.
Visit Sarah Zettel's home page on the Internet! http://pages.prodigy.com/sarahsci
