The Highest Frontier (59 page)

*   *   *

Inside Reagan Hall, they found the laboratory transformed. The original basement was sealed off; its door could not even be found. The plant lab was moved aside, and smaller, the flats crowded into shelves beneath doubled-up light banks. Abaynesh was there with Semerena, feeding headless mice to the snakes behind the professor’s office.

“The plants.” Jenny felt guilty about the missing ones, which the candidates had kept. “We came to check on our experiment.”

Abaynesh shrugged. “Yes, well, you can go ahead with the plants upstairs. The basement creatures were not so lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

Semerena’s shoulders were more hunched than usual. “With the ultra they are gone.” He hid his face.

“You mean they…”

“Cleaned out,” observed Abaynesh succinctly. “By Homeworld Security. As the saying goes, ‘straight to the gas.’”

The whole contents of the ultra basement. Besides the ultras, they’d burned all the rats and chickens too. Jenny felt sick. The three students stared without speaking.

“Apparently Mary’s ultra cells had learned to dissolve the amyloid drain.” Abaynesh looked at Semerena. “We think they got those genes from the pile worms.”

Semerena nodded. “It’s true, the pile worms have that pathway. But our new polychlorinated amyloid should stop them. The annihilation was unnecessary.”

Jenny watched the two-headed snakes coiled in their tanks, and the remaining rats and chickens in the professor’s hideaway. The lucky terrestrial survivors. “So the ultraphytes acquired pile worm genes? Not the other way round?”

“Both ways,” said Semerena. “On the pile worms first, the ultra practiced.”

Abaynesh put back the snake she was feeding. She wiped her palms on her jeans and adjusted the sleeve of her designer shirt. “The quasispecies begins with a seed. Wherever the seed falls, it sprouts and makes offspring. The offspring evolve into forms compatible with the host world. They mutate fast, and the most successful forms survive.”

That had gone on for years. “But didn’t something change?” Jenny thought of the biofilm that appeared in Great Salt Lake.

“Some forms of ultra learned about native life by copying their genes into native organisms. Then the more advanced forms acquired host sequences encoding host traits.”

“That started in the biofilm?”

“From that biofilm, the quasispecies has evolved faster. Instead of just random mutations, the cells take up Earth creature DNA and copy it to their RNA, acquiring useful traits. It makes sense: If you find yourself in a new environment, copy the successful traits of the natives.” Abaynesh paused. “But some of them must have started earlier. Before Mary. How did that happen? Why are there no intermediate forms, half-human things?”

Mary. How many human genes did she have? What was she after all?

Tom asked, “What about the pile worms? Could they … evolve to be ultraphytes?”

“Unlikely,” said the professor. “Worms don’t do the genetic engineering. Who really cares about pile worms?”

In a cage, one of the snakes started to fight between its two heads. The little jaws lunged out, each trying to consume the other.

“
You
ask her,”
Anouk insisted.

Jenny took a breath. “What was Mary?”

“Mary was a community,” said Abaynesh. “A whole research lab of ultras, trying to be a human.”

Anouk said, “To find out about us?”

“They did a pretty good job.”

“But why us? Are there others on Earth?”

“There’s always a first time. Frontera is a small, closed environment. Only a few people to worry about. A good model system.”

Jenny thought about the Creep. “Washington is also a small, closed place. You can sit alone in a room, seeing only who you want to see.”

“I knew it,” exclaimed Anouk. “The Creep is ultra too!”

The two professors exchanged a look, as if they’d had a long argument. “So it could be,” said Semerena. “Many Europeans would agree.”

Abaynesh shook her head. “The Creep had a long history as an Idaho senator. Like other uber conservatives, he was hiding a tendency. I think he really does have ultra syndrome.”

“Mary didn’t just happen,” argued Semerena. “The Creep instructed doctors to make a mandrake. As a defense experiment. That is always the excuse to make biological weapons: to devise a defense. That is government logic.”

“That’s why the government made weapons-grade anthrax,” agreed Abaynesh. “To test defenses.”

Jenny bit her lip. “Mary never seemed like a biological weapon. Just a mixed-up
compañera.
” Similar to a normal human, yet not quite. An Illyrian human.

“That is why I hid her,” said Abaynesh. “Sometimes you have to do what is right. We had long conversations. But now?” The professor shrugged. “Who knows what ultra’s next move will be.”

Tom caught Jenny’s hand. “What if Mary’s cells are dangerous? Could they destroy the hab?”

The professor looked him in the eye. “There are worse dangers to the hab. That power-out was too convenient.”

Jenny’s scalp prickled. This kind of politics she was not prepared for. “What about the wisdom plants?” she wondered suddenly. “Did Homeworld destroy them?”

Abaynesh gave her a long hard look. She didn’t say if those reverse controls had ultra genes. “Some of the plants were gone already,” she pointed out. “Perhaps the rest of that group will disappear.” She inclined her head toward the back of the lab. “The guard on the west side doesn’t function very well. I think it printed out wrong.”

*   *   *

Jenny and Tom sat in her second-floor greenhouse, watching the two
Arabidopsis
plants placed inconspicuously amongst her prize-winning Blood Star, the vanillas, and the giant purple vandas. “I don’t feel any wiser, do you?”

Tom held her closer. “I don’t know how I should feel. Maybe my nasopharynx lacks wisdom receptors.”

That was what had scared her, when she first brought the plant to Hamilton’s class. All she felt was overwhelming questions.

“But it feels okay,” added Tom. “Like, I don’t know now, but someday I’m sure I will.”

“ToyNews—From our box to yours.” A new announcer appeared, with a special news bulletin. Jenny looked closer. It was Clive after all. His head was shaved, as round as an egg. “We bring you live coverage from the Carrillo campaign headquarters.”

In the purple-lined window, Anna Carrillo and Gar Guzmán appeared together. They each held what the text labeled as a “souvenir native plant” from Frontera. The spoon-leafed plants looked well watered.

“Good evening, my fellow Americans,” said Anna. “My campaign has a special announcement to make. Following prayerful consideration, my running mate Sid Shaak has decided to step down, in order to take care of pressing family matters.” She paused. “In selecting a replacement, I took seriously my promise to maintain a bipartisan spirit in government. And during our recent debate, in the clear frontier air of Frontera, I came to appreciate the fact that a difference of a tenth of a percent in poll numbers has no existential meaning. I realized that I agree with my fellow governor of Cuba in so many things—in our love of Wisconsin cheddar, our concern for the bighorn sheep, and above all, our devotion to the welfare of our country.”

Gar nodded thoughtfully. “During our debate, I came to realize how much I agreed with my fellow governor of Utah. And so I brought back to my fellow party members the need to discuss a bipartisan effort. Regrettably, my party thought differently. And so, that is how I became available for a different position.”

“Of course,” Anna went on, “the Unity party has long experience with a ‘big tent’ philosophy. We merged two parties before, and we could do it again. We are by nature bipartisan. So we welcomed Gar as the new running mate for the Unity ticket.”

Gar beamed, with his avuncular smile. “This is actually a great opportunity for me. Away from the pressing needs of running a state, I can go back to study mathematics, and its applications to large, complex societies. With eight years of math under my belt, I’ll be in great shape for my turn at running the world’s most powerful nation.”

As the world’s audience was absorbing these words, the bald-headed Clive returned. “The candidates and their entourage agree that something about the frontier air of Frontera inspired this remarkable turn of events. In the meantime, the Unity party announces their response.”

There appeared Aunt Meg and El—and next to them, the former senator from Idaho, now the longest serving vice president in history.

“Good evening, my fellow Americans.” Meg sounded like the authoritative California governor she was, the kind who solved budget problems and drove out ultra with tanks. “As you know, the Centrist party has just experienced a change of leadership. But as always, Centrists manage change in a way that promotes stability—the most important thing for any government.

“When we learned that our candidate no longer professed the ideals and principles of our party, our course became clear. The Centrist national committee selected me, as the next highest primary vote recipient; after all, less than one percentage point separated us. Following this logical selection, I asked the current vice president to continue in his position.” She smiled with the triumph of this logic. “So you see, my fellow Americans, the choice is clear: Continue stable, competent government, with us—or risk a change, with candidates whose flaws and mercurial allegiances became all too evident in the clear frontier air.”

*   *   *

The last-minute shakeup had everyone’s head spinning. Stepping out on an errand, Jenny was so confused she stumbled over her shoelaces, forgetting to watch the pebbles on Buckeye Trail. Anna and Gar … Aunt Meg and the Creep. How could Aunt Meg have picked him? Even Hamilton knew the Creep had to go.

Upon her return, three elephants were up on her porch again, their trunks probing at the window. Jenny tried to shoo them off as usual, but the third one had to be dragged by its donkey tail, squealing. At that very moment, her aunts’ windows opened.

“
¡Hola!
Jenny Ramos Kennedy!” Aunt Meg with her smile of triumph.

Aunt El’s head shook. “Tsk, tsk,
sobrina.
Molesting the minis again.”

“Hi, Aunt Meg, Aunt El,” Jenny replied with a resigned sigh.

“We still treasure your endorsement,” Meg reminded her. “And your promise to vote for us—now that you can.”

“Blood is thicker than politics,” El reminded her.

Jenny bit her lip. If only she could print out a wisdom plant for her aunts. Not yet—maybe through Babynet, someday. “Look, Aunt Meg, I know you mean well, but—” Where to begin? “Tanks just won’t do against ultra. Believe me, I know.”

Meg nodded briskly, as if sealing a deal. “Our ultra program needs a director. You’re hired.”

“You won that prize,” reminded El. “And since then—my goodness, Homeworld must have found something to blast in your lab.”

Jenny took a breath. “The Creep. He has ultra syndrome.”

El glanced sideways at the head that shared her shoulders. “What did I tell you—”

“Shut up, El.” Meg’s curt retort was a surprise.

El looked hurt, then recovered her smile. “We’ve got plans for our dear vice president, haven’t we, sis. The day after election. A very, very secure undisclosed location.”

Meg relaxed. “Can’t take you anywhere, El,” she concluded in her old way. “As for you,
sobrina
—see you on Election Day.”

51

The convulsion in the campaign landscape rippled out in many directions. While the campaigns tried frantically to reposition themselves and recalibrate the pollmeters, a new media industry grew up overnight: the quest for Frontera’s air. How had the “frontier air” caused the candidates’ epiphany?

From every public printer on campus, a bald-headed Clive emerged to investigate. The Clive printouts roamed the college for news, leaving no remote lead unexplored. One, of course, stopped by the college president’s office.

“President Chase,” the amyloid construct began. “Your college motto is ‘Friends of wisdom, we are here.’”

Dylan smiled his most ingratiating smile. “
Sophias philai paromen.
Wisdom is the highest frontier.”

“And some say that wisdom breathes in the very air of Frontera.”

“I certainly hope so, Clive.”

“And it was your air that wised up our two candidates. Can you tell us, what is it that’s so special about your frontier air?”

Dylan’s smile creased with just a hint of nerves. It would have helped immeasurably if in fact he had the faintest notion of what had happened to those two candidates; but since he had none, he could only respond in a way that placed the college in the best possible light. “As you know, Clive, our habitat circulates pristine air at all times. Combustion of all kinds is prohibited throughout the hab.” Except for the Mound, which maintained its own circulation.

“Pristine air,” repeated Clive. “No brain-altering particulates.”

“And the proportion of gases,” Dylan recalled with inspiration. “Oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide—the proportions are not those of Earth today, but were set by our ecoengineer Quade Vincenzo at precisely those of three centuries ago, before global change. When Thomas Jefferson first wrote the Declaration.”

Clive’s eyes widened. “The air of the Founding Fathers. No wonder.”

Dylan nodded, hoping that would suffice.

“I suppose,” Clive went on, “your water supply, your Ohio River, is equally pristine.”

“Of course we filter all the college water.”

“So your water requires filtration?” Clive had the newshound’s instinct for irony. “What is the hab’s water quality?”

“Quade will help you out on that one. Of course,” Dylan was quick to add, “the college is responsible only for our own water. Mount Gilead is … an agricultural community.” The local produce did not meet college standards; that was why the students were fed regulation amyloid.

“We’re printing out at the courthouse, as we speak. By the way, the mayor-elect is one of your faculty, correct? Can you help us locate him?”

“Of course, as soon as possible.” Dylan hadn’t seen Hamilton since the debate. Even Helen had no clue.