Zach Hughes - The Stork Factor

they had even developed a primitive planet-killer, or at least the potential of one. So how much good would that do if she swept in from the depths of

interstellar space and killed all their planets before they could suspect that they were not alone in the universe? Special conditions. Others involved. If one developed such a weapon, could the others? A hundred scattered planets at vast, unreachable distances, placed there—selected—for their remoteness. Examine. Test. The fate of the race, protected and guarded by the vast, undying network of machines, now directed by her. Acceptance. Fury. Why had the race allowed such a situation to develop? Bleeding-heartism. Short-sightedness. Consideration for those who did not deserve it. She had the urge to destroy and destroy but she bowed to the wisdom of those who had programmed the machines which kept the race in their ultimate stage of development. For they had foreseen the present possibility and had made plans to counter it before they, the master planners, retreated to their secluded structures and pressed the Trang button for endless pleasure. Yes, she would do as they wished. She would observe and test and then, when she had done all that, she would come back. Yes, even that. She would leave the lovely Trang time once again to ensure that she would never have to leave it again. She would leave it on a heavily armed ship of the line and with her, spreading to the far corners, the remote areas, would be a hundred other ships, all manned by the race, sacrificing a period of Trang to utterly destroy the last possible threat to eternal joy. However, she did not communicate these thoughts to the computer network. That would come later, when the race gave orders to its machines. Then the machines would obey, of course. She saw the stars wink out and felt the slight change indicating the departure of the ship from normal space. When she felt the next change, the offending system was spread ahead of her, a rather pretty system with nine planets and a small but efficient sun. She began to make preparations. In the midst of her preparations she was struck with an intriguing possibility. Out there on Planet 3 were beings, beings of the race. They were, true, inferior beings, but they were, originally, of the race. That meant males. A delicious tingle warmed her. Well, it was a possibility. CHAPTER TEN The first night was bad. They had used Caster's name. It was as good as any. Mr. and Mrs. Luke Caster, immigrants from South City by permission of the Brothers, Fares. The papers provided by one of Zachary Wundt's young men worked. They were assigned a room within smelling of the big, open sewer of a river which ran on the eastern edge of the city. It was a typical Fare room, with one bed, one chair, one small table, a sink, a sanitary facility separated from the living area by a moveable screen. It measured ten by ten. It had no window. It crawled with insects of various types. Luke insisted that Caster take the bed. He slept in his clothing. He started in the chair and ended upon the floor with a cockroach slowly

crawling across his lips shortly after he first began to doze. He slapped the disgusting insect away and then he could hear Caster breathing evenly. She was asleep. It was bad. He'd never been in the same room with a female. Even though he was fully clothed and she was sleeping in her clothing, too, he knew it was wrong. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed that the intent of the mission would make up for the sin of sleeping in the same room with a female. Finally, long after the factory horns blew midnight, he dozed. He awoke with a headache. His limbs were stiff. His hipbone felt as if he'd been sleeping on rocks. Caster, awake before him, had a meal ready. Fish meal and coffee. After the decent food of the underground, it was terrible. In the streets, they were assailed by the ever-present noise, harsh, ear-achingly persistent. Their lungs felt the burning, acrid fumes which closed the city from the sky. Around them people moved in streams. The streets crawled with ground cars belching more smoke into the already overladen air. They walked, caught up in the hopelessness of the city, a feeling Luke had never experienced. Before the Brothers had taken him to the Hall of Justice, he'd known no life but the city, if one discounted his brief stay at the University. He had accepted it. There was the knowledge

that he'd lived half or more of his life, true. There was the knowledge that the lung sickness or his heart would kill him, but, before he went underground and learned that there were alternatives, he had been only one of a billion people who faced the same fate and he had not asked why. He had accepted it as God's will. Now he found himself asking why and suffering guilt for having asked it. For one does not question God. «You forget,» Caster said, after they'd walked for blocks in silence. He knew she meant the city, the teeming, hopeless life, the ear-hurting

noise, the lung-searing air, the jostling and fighting for a place to stand. «Somewhere west there's a place where they work on nothing but space

travel,» Caster said. «They think that would be the answer, to ship millions of people to other planets, give those who are left a chance to breathe and move.» «Watch what you say,» Luke said. «You're not underground.» «Sorry.» Two ground cars collided. Thin metal crumpled. Heavy engines broke loose, crushing the people in one car, one engine bouncing along the street into a crosswalk, mangling pedestrians. They halted. Luke accepted it as a matter of everyday course. Caster was appalled. Wrecking machines came. Cars were lifted, crushed, moved toward the big barges which would carry them down the river to the dumping grounds in the gulf. Bodies were tossed into other vehicles. The wounded, if unable to walk, were taken to—Luke paused in his thoughts. Taken where? He'd never thought about that before. What became of seriously injured accident victims? Once he'd seen an aid station in Old Town. Those with nonfatal injuries were given Newasper. Broken arms were set roughly by aid attendants and wrapped in slings. But what happened to the more seriously injured victims? There was a neighbor who had been hit by a ground car in the street in front of Luke's building in Old Town. He'd been taken away. Luke never saw him again. Were such people given the benefit of medicine? Near them, as they watched the bodies and the wounded being taken away, stood a woman with a horribly scarred face. One eye was raw and protruding with deep, livid scars running away from it. Her mouth was twisted and scarred. Her cheeks were pocked and rutted. And, looking around, Luke saw others. He felt like crying. He could imagine the agony those people went through, healing from such injuries with only Newasper to help. «I've just decided that I hate them,» he said. «Yes,» Caster said. «I mean the Brothers.» «Yes.» That night they found a small park. Caster stood in the shadows while Luke, armed with a permit from the local Brotherfuzz, preached. He was shy, at first. Then, standing on a rock, he began to see that Middle City was no different. It was like Old Town, without the tall, crumbling skyscrapers. The people were the same. They spoke the same. Regional accents had long since been replaced with a speech patterned after the countrywide viewscreen network, the great leveler. People in Middle City were the same, Fares, Techs, Lays. He preached. He talked quietly about the Lord and his promise of everlasting life. A Tech, high on Soul Lifter, razzed him, grew bored, moved on. Two old Fares nodded and said, «Amen.» The Tireds moved in close, some with the bloodfleeks of the lung sickness on their lips, others looking up at him with glazed eyes, drinking in the promises. «Amen, brother.» «You tell it so sweetly, brother.» «Praise the Lord!» And Luke crying inside thinking of them going through each day not even knowing that there was another way. And then crying openly and