The Lost Colony by DM Arnold (thriller books to read .txt) 📕

“A good crop will yield fifty tonnes per hectare per standard,” the overseer replied.

“It's quite remarkable,” Nyk said. “On Earth ten tonnes of wheat per hectare is considered exceptional.”

“Remember,” the overseer replied, “pomma is in continuous production. Each day we harvest a couple hundred kilos per hectare.”

“It all adds up,” Nyk remarked and made some mental calculations. “Each fieldhand produces fifty to sixty kilos per day working sunup to sundown -- quite do-able and not too onerous a job, at that ... though it's not one I'd care to do.”

“And that,” the overseer rejoined, “is precisely why we invented novonids.”

“Do you give them rest days?” Andra asked, “or are they expected to work sunup to sundown, day after day ... year after year?”

“Of course we give them rest days,” the overseer replied, “one per ten. We stagger them so the fields are always tended.”

“Just like in the agridomes on Floran,” Nyk interjected.

“Except dome workers get three rest days per seven -- like everyone else.”

“Novonids have an aversion to idleness,” Nyk replied. “One out of ten is probably all the rest they require. They prefer to be busy in the sun.”

“So I have heard,” she replied icily. Andra turned to the overseer. “What about the women? You said you had twenty. What sort of work do they do?”

“We breed our own. The infants are cared for here on the farm. Once they're weaned, they are sent for conditioning and training. Upon reaching maturity, they return here to work. If we have a surplus, we sell some. The women are also used as servants in the family and staff quarters.”

“And those who've outlived their usefulness?”

“We have had good luck placing them with the BSS.”

“The Benevolent Shelter Society,” Nyk said.

“Yes -- we support the BSS one hundred percent. On this farm, we have a no- termination policy -- the landlord spent some time as a terminator and refuses to permit it on the novonids he owns.”

“I take it not all farms have such a policy,” Andra said.

“Unfortunately not. I'll admit -- you do become attached to them. The little children are adorable, and many of the adults are good company. I'd hate to have to kill one.” The overseer led them toward a long, low building. “These are the females' cabins.”

“The women have private quarters?” Andra asked.

“Yes. We reward the males with conjugal visits. It gives them something to ... strive toward.”

“Just so we understand this...” Andra replied. “A fieldworker can earn the reward of a night with one of...”

“Exactly. It's all part of our breeding strategy.”

“I imagine,” Nyk added, “that you assign pairings based on the desired issue.”

“Of course not. Breeding is a precise science. The male must wear a sheath. The ejaculate is collected, separated, preserved, catalogued and used as our needs dictate to impregnate females...”

“You mean via artificial insemination.”

“Correct. We also sell sperm to other breeders.”

“And, a male who is uncooperative?” Nyk asked.

“He loses his conjugal privileges. It tends to be a powerful motivator for their cooperation -- in every regard.”

“I imagine so...” Nyk replied.

“In other words,” Andra observed icily, “despite what we've been told about their inability to weigh facts and make informed decisions, they DO understand cooperation and reward.”

“At a basic level, yes. If there's one complaint I'd have against their designers, it's that the novonids' reproductive strategy is patterned a bit TOO closely on the human model.”

Nyk nodded and remarked, “So, these conjugal visits not only provide you with the genetic material necessary for breeding, they also satisfy a basic sexual drive -- not to mention motivating and rewarding desired behavior. It's a clever strategy.”

“Clever, indeed,” Andra whispered to Nyk in her native Lingwa. “No doubt it also provides endless amusement for the overseers.”

“I'm sorry -- I didn't catch that,” Ogan said.

“You don't by any chance employ spy holes or hidden cameras to observe them in the act, do you?” Nyk asked. Ogan flashed him a sideways glance, his eyes narrowed.

“Of course not,” the overseer replied. “Privacy during these conjugal visits is a fundamental dignity they expect and receive.”

“On THIS farm, perhaps,” Andra whispered; then she spoke up. “What about the children? How are they cared for?”

“The older women -- those beyond safe childbearing years -- serve as caregivers.”

“Until the children are of age to be sent for conditioning and training, that is,” Nyk observed.

“The boys are sent for training. Our girls perform domestic chores and tend the herb garden.”

Nyk looked toward Ogan. “Thank you,” he said to the guide. He took Andra's hand and walked toward the bus. He stopped to survey the pomma field and watched the workers move from plant to plant. “Imagine,” he said, “working, sun up to sun down with no break -- and, liking it.”

Ogan gestured them inside and the vehicle began its way back into the city. “Well,” he said, “now what do you think?”

Andra stroked her forearm. “I think I got too much sun.”

“I think,” Nyk said, “you are growing the wrong crop.”

“Pomma is a pervasive plant on this world,” Ogan replied. “During our many years of isolation, our Earth crops failed -- one by one, they all failed. Pomma was originally considered famine food. As it overran our wheat and rice we learned to harvest it. Pomma is our savior, Nykkyo. There would be no Varada without it.”

Nyk nodded. “I do understand what motivated you to create the novonids. That demonstration with the plastic bag was astonishing.” He shook his head. “You could use them in a hazardous materials spill. Provided there was enough sunlight -- they could go into a toxic atmosphere without a mask and secure the area.”

“Absolutely,” Ogan replied. “Did you see any evidence of mistreatment? Those field workers are content to soak up life-sustaining sunlight and to tend our crops in return.”

“I'll concede those fieldworkers looked well cared for. Prefect -- are the novonids ever killed for food?”

Ogan's jaw dropped. “Mr Kyhana,” he sputtered, “you DO ask the most preposterous questions. What sorts of barbarians do you think we are?”

“It struck me that, in the event of a planet-wide pomma failure, you would have a supply of beings who need little more than sunlight and water to survive.”

“How your mind works.” Ogan shook his head. “We would never consider the novonids for any purpose other than for what they were designed to do -- to be a labor force. I'll add that an ... event cataclysmic enough to wipe out the pomma crop would kill 95% of the vegetation on this world. I doubt our own population -- novonids included -- would survive it.”

“But, in the event of a famine...” Andra began to interject.

“Pomma WAS considered famine food, once. No, Ms Baxa. Please remember that one of the reasons we're in discussions with Floran is to hedge against such a famine.”

“I'm pleased you responded to my question with such force,” Nyk replied. “It should dispel any such conjecture.”

Ogan smiled. “Good.”

The driver gestured for Ogan's attention and he turned to the front seat for a consultation.

Andra regarded Nyk through narrowed eyes. “I wish he weren't so smug,” she whispered to Nyk in their native tongue. “And, I wish YOU wouldn't encourage him.”

“Encourage him? What do you mean?”

“That remark about using them in a toxic atmosphere. I'm sure the Varadans can come up with plenty of ways to exploit them without helpful suggestions from you.”

Ogan turned his seat to face them again. “I'm sorry... Where were we? Oh, yes... Fieldworkers comprise the largest component of a pomma farm's capital. Those on this modest plantation we visited are probably worth a million and a half units. Only a fool would mistreat such expensive and valuable resources.”

“I've seen men do foolish things, Prefect.” Andra flashed him a faint smile. “That was only one farm, and I'll wager one of the better ones.” Nyk rested his chin on his fist. “Prefect, would it be possible to have access to your media?

“Media?”

“Yes -- your news reporting ... journalism.”

“Certainly. You must have a mediascreen in your guest quarters.”

“I believe we do.”

“Then, when we return to my office, I'll create a guest access for you and show you how to retrieve our news reports. As I said, our records concerning the novonids are open books.”

Andra followed Nyk into the guest house. “That certainly was instructive, wouldn't you say?” he asked.

“It certainly was,” she replied frostily.

“I'll say this, though... I was decidedly embarrassed asking that question about spy holes in the females' quarters. And, I felt like a complete fool asking the one about eating novonids.”

“Why did you, then?”

“You made some accusations I felt the Varadans deserved an opportunity to rebut.”

“For the life of me, Nykkyo -- I cannot comprehend why you feel the impulse to defend this ... abominable institution.”

“I'm not defending it...”

“Oh, you certainly were at the pomma farm ... computing how many kilos each worker must bring in to make his showing ... 'not too onerous,' you said. How many kilos before it becomes onerous, Nykkyo? A hundred? One-fifty?”

“I wasn't defending it. I was only attempting to comprehend it. Andra, I don't understand why you seem to think the worst of them. At least I'm happy Ogan dispelled any thoughts about novonids as a food supply.”

“This is a vegetarian society, Nykkyo. We haven't been served anything but pomma since we set foot on this rock. I made that remark half in jest.”

“Only half? Think about it, Andra. You yourself are proposing that the novonids are free-willed. How do you think such a population would respond once they realize they're destined for someone's dinner table? No -- you can't have it both ways. If you accept the notion that novonids are to be eaten, then you must abandon the notion they're sentient.”

“I don't know about that...”

“Beef herds on Earth couldn't exist if the creatures were fully sentient and aware of their fates.”

“I'm definitely not sure about that,” she replied.

“And what about your notion of farm staff peeping on their conjugal visits?”

“Whenever one people subjugates another, Nykkyo, sexual exploitation is the inevitable result. It IS an old story. YOU were the one who brought up the question of a novonid sex industry, after all.”

“It was only my own curiosity, based on what I saw on Altia. At any rate, I do admire their breeding strategy. I can imagine more humiliating ways to obtain sperm.”

“Truly spoken like a man, Nykkyo. I'm imagining how humiliating it must be to be a novonid female ... being no more than a receiving vessel ... having no control over her own fertility ... much less her own sex partners.”

“Humiliation is in the eye of the humiliated, don't you think? If this is the only way they know, how would it be humiliating to them?”

Andra's jaw dropped. “NYKKYO! We are talking about basic human rights and dignities, here!”

“And, the novonids are NOT human. Besides, Floran women have relegated control over their fertility to the state, with birth licenses and all. Don't forget about that contraceptive implant capsule in your arm. Neither society is truly free. The difference is only in degree. Their breeding strategy accomplishes one thing -- it eliminates the problem of a ... a sexually frustrated work force.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “That's a good thing, isn't it?” He kissed her hair.

“Don't you even think about it!”

“Come on, Andra... You and I are on the same side in this assignment.”

“Are we, really? Is that a fact?”

“We certainly are.” He pulled her against himself and kissed the top of her head.

She embraced him and lay her face on his shoulder. “Let's not argue. Let's agree to disagree on the topic of novonids.”

“I have a better idea,” Nyk replied. “Let's both agree to be open-minded on the topic. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” He kissed her lips. “I have nagging doubts -- that's all. I'll try to push them aside.”

“Good. I AM beginning to understand what the Varadans want and why they're so eager for trade.”

“Which is...”

“I was attempting to estimate what their pomma crop supply and demand look like. Based on what Ogan told me about the novonid population, how many per hectare are needed to cultivate the crop, the per-hectare standard yield and a wet-finger-in-the-wind guess as to how much ethanol they need to fuel an industry supporting a population of two billion...”

“Ethanol?” she asked. “What about food?”

“Oh, I'd say the vast bulk of the crop goes to their fuel and chemical industries. Perhaps five percent is diverted for food.”

“You came to what conclusion?”

“Each standard they produce three tonnes of pomma per capita -- and they use it all. They have no surplus. If something should happen to the pomma crop -- if only a fraction of a fraction of it should fail -- this planet would be in deep trouble. An alternate energy source would significantly widen their margin of error.” He turned to the mediascreen. “Now, let's have a look at the Varadan media archive...” He sat,