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

“And the skin color?” Andra asked.

“Chloroplasts,” Ogan replied. “We have replaced melanin-bearing bodies with chloroplasts.”

“Chlorophyll,” Nyk added. “They produce their own nourishment from sunlight.”

“Precisely,” Ogan said. “They are solar-powered. One of them can work all day in the field without the need to break for meals. Hence the hairlessness -- hair would shade the sun. They require only a single meal every two or three days -- a special diet rich in protein and minerals. Their digestive systems are specialized and cannot process carbohydrates.”

“They have no need to,” Nyk said. “The chloroplasts create the sugars they need.”

“Again, precisely.”

“Do you mean,” Andra asked, “that he's a PLANT?”

“No,” Nyk replied. “They've adapted a plant's photosynthetic strategy and applied it to a human matrix.”

“Exactly,” Ogan added. “We've modified and enhanced it -- so that all the energy his body requires comes directly from the sun.”

“It's an amazing accomplishment, Prefect.”

“What about reproduction?” Andra asked.

“Patterned after the human model. Would you care to see?”

“Uhh ... no need for that, Prefect.”

“Thank you, Eight-two-one.” The man turned and left.

“You haven't eliminated slavery,” Andra said. “You have merely created a new race of slaves.”

“No,” Ogan replied. “They are not a new race. They are not human. They are a new species.”

“I must agree there,” Nyk said. “If two organisms cannot interbreed, then they are different species. That man...”

“Eight-two-one,” Ogan interrupted.

“Eight-two-one is not human,” Nyk said. “He is not a member of Homo Sapiens. Homo ... Homo Novus, perhaps -- or, Homo Artificialis -- but not Homo Sapiens.”

“We call them novo hominids, or novonids for short. They are created by us to serve us ... in order to free Homo Sapiens from involuntary servitude.”

“I am going to have to think about this,” Andra said.

“I thought I saw one of them tending the garden when we landed,” Nyk remarked. “At first I thought he merely had a dark tan.”

“Do they all dress ... thus?” Andra asked.

“Of course. We clothe them only as needed for propriety -- in order not to block the sunlight.”

“How long have they ... been in existence?” Nyk asked.

“The first fertile pair reached breeding maturity around five hundred years ago,” Ogan replied, gazing at the ceiling. “We required a couple hundred years to develop a sufficient population -- through breeding and cloning -- to displace humans in the fields.”

“How many novonids are on this planet?”

Ogan again looked upward. “Around three hundred million.”

“Three ... hundred ... million?” Andra looked toward Nyk. “What is the lifespan?”

“Very much like a human's,” Ogan replied. “The vast majority of them work the pomma farms. Using novonid labor, pomma costs about a hundred units per tonne to produce. Without them the cost would be easily ten times as much.”

“How much pomma do you harvest?” Nyk asked.

Once again Ogan gazed upward. “Around five and a half billion tonnes per standard year.”

“So the novonids are saving you...” Nyk rolled his own eyes in thought. “...better than four trillion units per standard.”

“And, displacing three hundred million crop workers,” Andra interjected.

“I believe,” Nyk replied, “those three hundred million have been absorbed to perform less ... menial work.”

“Precisely,” Ogan agreed. “As I said, the majority cultivate pomma; but we are seeing a few entering the urban workforce to perform unskilled jobs. Our economy was never so productive nor so prosperous before novonids arrived.” His eyes shifted between Nyk and Andra. “I can see our novonids have taken you by surprise.”

“That is an understatement,” Andra replied.

“We had no idea,” Nyk added. “When I learned you had solved the problem of slavery I assumed some mechanical solution.”

“Our novonids are far better than machines. They are gifted with enough intelligence to learn and adapt; but they are docile and do not aspire to anything greater. Rather than a specialized machine, they are adaptable to any task. Any menial labor a human wishes no longer to perform can be done by one of them.” Ogan glanced at a clock on the wall. “You must excuse me, but I have some appointments.” He gestured them to follow.

Outside the conference room sat Eight-two-one, his hands folded in his lap. “Eight- two-one,” Ogan said, “Please turn Mr Kyhana and Ms Baxa over to my assistant.” He turned toward Nyk. “She will escort you on a tour of our city. Then, she will get you situated in your quarters at the guest house. Good day, Nykkyo and Andra. We'll meet again tomorrow and prepare for the arrival of your envoy.”

The green man stood. Nyk and Andra followed him down the corridor and into another office. A young woman stood to greet them. Tattooed on her clavicle were three staves.

“Hello,” she said. “I'm Glinni. Prefect Ogan asked me to show you our city. What would you like to see?”

“Whatever you want to show us,” Nyk replied.

“Let's walk.” She looked at their Floran tunics and sashes. “Maybe you'd like to acquire some Varadan clothing.” She called down the corridor. “Eight-two-one!” Their green escort stopped and returned to her office. “We'll need some scrip.” He nodded and left.

Eight-two-one returned, handed Glinni some cards and then returned to his post outside the door to Ogan's office. “Here,” Glinni said and handed the cards to Nyk and Andra. “Some Varadan currency. Consider it a gift. You are welcome to it -- it's hardly enough to bankrupt us, but it IS enough to do some shopping.”

Nyk followed Glinni to the street. He inhaled. The air carried the sterno-smell of burning alcohol, with a pungent note of ozone. Cars and three- and two-wheeled cycles whizzed by, each generating its own whine like so many mosquitoes. “The vehicles here are powered by internal-combustion engines?” Nyk asked.

“By gas turbines, for the most part,” Glinni replied, “fueled by alcohol. Four-fifths of the pomma we harvest goes for alcohol production -- for fuel and our chemical industry.”

“Surely the inertial sink had been developed on Floran before Varada was settled,” Nyk replied.

“Varada lacks the exotic metals necessary to build inertial sinks.”

“The same metals are used to build warp coils,” he whispered to Andra. It's one reason they have no interstellar fleet.”

“It's one reason the Varadans are eager for rapprochement with Floran,” she whispered in reply.

“We do have iron, aluminum and titanium in abundance,” Glinni continued. “We must work with what this world affords us.”

“Glinni, are the vehicles all human-piloted? Do you have no centralized, automated vehicular control?”

“Why invest in such when each vehicle can have its own navigational and control system?” She tapped her temple and smiled.

Nyk heard a screech and saw a three-wheeler colliding with a truck. The drivers stood on the pavement and shouted oaths at each other. “THAT's why,” Andra whispered.

The three of them headed toward the capital's downtown business district with Glinni in the lead. They passed by a novonid man pushing a broom as they approached a crosswalk. “Careful,” Glinni said, “this is a streetcar lane.”

Nyk heard a deep whine rise in pitch and then fall from Doppler effect as the bus- like streetcar whizzed by. On the rear was mounted an open platform on which two green-skinned passengers stood, grasping railings.

“Why are those novonids standing ... outside the bus?” he asked.

“That's where they ride,” Glinni replied. “They pay no fare.”

“Novonids travel for free?”

“That's right.”

“As long as they don't let go of the back of the bus,” Andra remarked.

“Come in here,” Glinni said, holding a door. “This is our premier department store.”

Nyk stepped inside. The store's street level held a row of stalls with advertising signs and lights.

“This is our food court,” Glinni explained. “I come here for lunch often.”

Nyk scanned the court. Varadan professionals and youths sat at tables conversing, eating and drinking. On either side stood a pair of young novonid men, clad in their shorts, ready to bus and clear tables as customers left.

“Here in the city,” Nyk asked, “what percentage of menial jobs are filled by novonids?”

“More and more of them,” Glinni replied. “A hundred years ago you'd never see one off the farms. Now, they're everywhere.”

“Are they displacing human workers?” Andra asked.

“They're mainly used for work no one else wants. It's been liberating for people like me.”

“How so?” Nyk asked.

Glinni pointed to her caste tattoo. “I'm laborer class, but I'm working in an office, in a job traditionally reserved for professional class. I'm fully qualified for the job I do. Before I could apply, I had to obtain from the labor office a certificate that there were no laborer jobs vacant and needing filling.”

“Since those were filled by novonids...”

“That's right. I was free to apply up-class.”

“Don't they preferentially fill professional jobs with professional-class workers?” Andra asked.

“No -- it works the other way around. I filled a professional job, so a professional- class is free to apply up-class. This notion that someone only can perform in-class work dates from before the introduction of novonids.”

“You've smashed the glass ceilings,” Nyk added. “And, you've exposed as fallacy the notion that there is only a finite amount of work to be done.”

“Exactly.” Glinni replied “There's an endless amount of work to do.”

“A rising tide lifts all ships,” Nyk remarked.

Glinni gestured to the lifts. “Let's go upstairs and buy a Varadan wardrobe for you.”

Nyk stepped from a dressing room in a pair of slacks and a one-sleeved shirt. “I feel naked without a class mark,” he said.

“Hardly anyone notices these days,” Glinni replied. “Some don't bother to have it applied.”

He picked up a sack of other garments and headed for the cashier. Glinni consulted a timepiece. “We must get you back to the offices. Prefect has ordered a car to take you to the guest house.”

Nyk sat beside Andra as the car whined its way along the Varadan streets. “A rising tide lifts all ships indeed,” she remarked in her native tongue.

“Certainly -- it has worked for Glinni.”

“What she describes runs counter to the laws of economics -- and human nature.”

“Andra -- encountering a mid-level functionary in Floran City who's as professional, as enthusiastic and as out-going as Glinni would be a breath of fresh air. There, every office assistant or Central Admin wonk believes their job is their birth-right. Glinni was pushed into a better opportunity by that rising tide. She loves her job -- that much was obvious.”

“I agree it worked for Glinni,” she replied. “What happens when that rising green tide overflows its banks? Will the Varadans tolerate novonids filling professional slots? I don't think so. I can't imagine, after what Ogan told us, that any Varadan would accept a novonid as his boss.”

The car stopped outside a two-story building surrounded by flower beds. A novonid man knelt with hand shears, trimming the moss-like lawn around the base of a shrub.

Nyk carried his case and parcels into the building. “Mr Kyhana ... Ms Baxa -- upstairs, second door. The passcard is in the lock.”

“Quite the digs,” Nyk remarked as he looked over their lodging. “More like a guest apartment than a hostel.”

Andra shook her head. “Nykkyo -- how can you blithely talk about guest quarters? Especially after what we've seen here?”

“It's going to take me some time to assimilate all this. I didn't see any novonids being abused or mistreated. I tend to agree with Ogan. They were created to serve. They certainly are a remarkable accomplishment.”

“How do you imagine the Varadans could achieve this remarkable accomplishment, given the state of the rest of their technology?”

“As Glinni said, they work with the resources this world affords them, and the gene pool is such a resource. I dare say such genetic engineering is well within the capabilities of Floran science -- even Floran science of thousands of years ago.”

“Perhaps so,” she replied. “Our people always have resisted such genetic tinkering as unethical ... immoral. I suppose the institution of slavery desensitizes a population.”

“Andra, you of all people should realize the importance of the genetic counselors in our society. The bulk of our population -- yourself included -- are the result of genetic tinkering. The difference is in degree only.”

“The difference is how the resulting population is engaged. Whether a Floran embryo is conceived