before you vote. Thank you for your patience and consideration.”
Dr. Hadje offered a rebuttal, arguing passionately against the general’s motion. He branded the proposed law as slow genocide, but when asked for a plausible alternative to the general’s plan, he had nothing to offer but the same old failing programs.
The Council deliberated less than a day, and the general’s proposal passed. The doctor saw his life’s work ending. Humanity was condemned. The Human Solution Act became law.
The scientist-politician could not sleep for days. Most of the time, he sat stoically in an overstuffed chair, ruminating about what had gone so terribly wrong.
“ Why did my genetic alterations fail?” he asked himself aloud. “My theories seemed so sound. How does some human DNA manage to re-integrate itself after being altered?”
This was a persistent and troubling pattern. Genetic changes to diminish aggression worked in some humans but not all. Why? How could human DNA spontaneously repair itself?
The head of Human Affairs fretted about his scientific and diplomatic failure.
“ If only I had a piece of the male’s skeleton. Perhaps there is an explanation. If only—”
He bolted upright in his chair.
“That’s it!” Dr. Hadje shouted.
The obsessed scientist grasped at the slim possibility and found a thread of hope.
“Simon’s DNA is the key,” he talked to himself as he got dressed. “If there is a logical explanation for the human’s behavior, then perhaps I can offer the Council doubt about their decision. The vote was very close. If I can change only two Governor’s minds, I might save this program . . . and the human race.”
His depression lifted in an instant. He crossed the room to an antique desk next to his bed. A frayed, hardcover journal lay at the center of his desktop, opened to its last few yellowed pages. He read his life diary entry from two days before. It chronicled the impending extinction of a galactic race due to his political and scientific failure.
The page to the right was blank. He tapped it with a single finger while he thought. It had yet to be written. Tanarac tradition held that when you die, your life journal, written in your own hand using the ancient, family stylus on thick parchment, would be enshrined in your library to stand forever as a testament to your contributions in life.
After some time, Dr. Hadje took his ancestral writing quill, passed down through many generations, and dipped it a little deeper into the inkwell than necessary. Extra ink would create a bold entry, an entry that would stand out to all who might someday judge his life. He entered the date, and wrote one simple sentence.
“If it takes the rest of my life, I will find the human, Simon.”
Chapter 10
The jungle changed as Simon approached the mountain. Large ferns vanished, replaced by distant cousins a third the size. Instead of soft mulch of the jungle floor, dry twigs cracked under his worker boots. Hardwood trees stood in the open with no moss on their bark or vines growing up from the ground. Blue sky replaced dense jungle canopy.
He felt naked and exposed without the jungle foliage. He considered returning to the jungle but could not bring himself to turn away from the looming mountain peak.
Occasional bare-rock mounds thrust up through the soil. Sitting on one to rest while eating fruit and drinking water, he could see long distances in any direction. He glanced wistfully back at the jungle, and then ahead at the mountain that appeared much larger now. Long foothills extended from the base of the mountain far out into the jungle. He counted his fruit supply.
S parse vegetation allowed Simon to travel faster, and he reached the edge of the foothills just before dark. It was time to find shelter for the night.
A solitary large tree sat on top of a nearby rise . It was different from the jungle hardwoods. Bark was smoother and climbing more difficult.
After several attempts, Simon
Dr. Hadje offered a rebuttal, arguing passionately against the general’s motion. He branded the proposed law as slow genocide, but when asked for a plausible alternative to the general’s plan, he had nothing to offer but the same old failing programs.
The Council deliberated less than a day, and the general’s proposal passed. The doctor saw his life’s work ending. Humanity was condemned. The Human Solution Act became law.
The scientist-politician could not sleep for days. Most of the time, he sat stoically in an overstuffed chair, ruminating about what had gone so terribly wrong.
“ Why did my genetic alterations fail?” he asked himself aloud. “My theories seemed so sound. How does some human DNA manage to re-integrate itself after being altered?”
This was a persistent and troubling pattern. Genetic changes to diminish aggression worked in some humans but not all. Why? How could human DNA spontaneously repair itself?
The head of Human Affairs fretted about his scientific and diplomatic failure.
“ If only I had a piece of the male’s skeleton. Perhaps there is an explanation. If only—”
He bolted upright in his chair.
“That’s it!” Dr. Hadje shouted.
The obsessed scientist grasped at the slim possibility and found a thread of hope.
“Simon’s DNA is the key,” he talked to himself as he got dressed. “If there is a logical explanation for the human’s behavior, then perhaps I can offer the Council doubt about their decision. The vote was very close. If I can change only two Governor’s minds, I might save this program . . . and the human race.”
His depression lifted in an instant. He crossed the room to an antique desk next to his bed. A frayed, hardcover journal lay at the center of his desktop, opened to its last few yellowed pages. He read his life diary entry from two days before. It chronicled the impending extinction of a galactic race due to his political and scientific failure.
The page to the right was blank. He tapped it with a single finger while he thought. It had yet to be written. Tanarac tradition held that when you die, your life journal, written in your own hand using the ancient, family stylus on thick parchment, would be enshrined in your library to stand forever as a testament to your contributions in life.
After some time, Dr. Hadje took his ancestral writing quill, passed down through many generations, and dipped it a little deeper into the inkwell than necessary. Extra ink would create a bold entry, an entry that would stand out to all who might someday judge his life. He entered the date, and wrote one simple sentence.
“If it takes the rest of my life, I will find the human, Simon.”
Chapter 10
The jungle changed as Simon approached the mountain. Large ferns vanished, replaced by distant cousins a third the size. Instead of soft mulch of the jungle floor, dry twigs cracked under his worker boots. Hardwood trees stood in the open with no moss on their bark or vines growing up from the ground. Blue sky replaced dense jungle canopy.
He felt naked and exposed without the jungle foliage. He considered returning to the jungle but could not bring himself to turn away from the looming mountain peak.
Occasional bare-rock mounds thrust up through the soil. Sitting on one to rest while eating fruit and drinking water, he could see long distances in any direction. He glanced wistfully back at the jungle, and then ahead at the mountain that appeared much larger now. Long foothills extended from the base of the mountain far out into the jungle. He counted his fruit supply.
S parse vegetation allowed Simon to travel faster, and he reached the edge of the foothills just before dark. It was time to find shelter for the night.
A solitary large tree sat on top of a nearby rise . It was different from the jungle hardwoods. Bark was smoother and climbing more difficult.
After several attempts, Simon
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