William Dietz - The Seeds of Man

I would like to thank Brett Beaulieu for sharing his in-depth knowledge of garbage dumps with me. And yes, I’m serious.

And many thanks to Karin Bumbaco for all the sage advice and information related to climate change. It’s already under way, but let’s hope we can slow it down.

Lora Larsy awoke as she always did to the gentle buzz of the alarm clock located next to her bed. She hated that sound and what it meant, which was the beginning of another school day. According to books she’d read, there had once been a time when it was possible to switch schools or even drop out. But that was before the nuclear war, before billions of people were killed, and before the keepers sealed the Sanctuary off from the rest of the world. Now school was mandatory, and if she failed to show up, her absence would result in penalties for her father. A touch of a button silenced the alarm.

Lora listened but couldn’t hear any sounds coming from her father’s room. That wasn’t a surprise. Her father had been out late.

Lora’s bedroom was barely large enough to accommodate a fold-down bunk, a built-in wardrobe, and a tiny desk. A night-light provided some illumination as Lora got up and crossed the hall into the bathroom.

Once inside she locked the door and eyed herself in the mirror. The inventory was a daily ritual. She had shoulder-length brown hair, a high forehead, mostly hidden by bangs, and brown eyes. Not blue like Kristy’s, or green like Becky’s, just brown.

Lora thought her nose was her best feature, which was probably true since no one teased her about it. But it wasn’t enough to make up for lips that were too thin, ears that stuck out, and breasts that were too small. She uttered a sigh and began to brush her teeth. Then it was time to enter the shower stall and turn the water on. Three minutes. That’s how long she had to work with. Some people preferred to soap, scrub, and rinse. Lora gave herself one minute to do all three. Then she could stand there and let the hot water pummel her skin for a full two minutes before the shower turned itself off. Then it would be ten minutes before someone could use it again, one of many measures intended to conserve water.

After exiting the shower, it was time to dry off, return to her room, and get dressed. The uniform consisted of a white blouse with a navy blue skirt and matching socks. A pair of plain black shoes completed the outfit. The council claimed that forcing all the children to wear the same clothing would prevent social stratification. But that was hypocritical since the same council assigned heretics like her father to tiny apartments at the bottom of the stack as a way to signify their inferior status. And she had said as much. Her father’s response was a gentle smile. “They mean well, Lora. They mean well.” But they didn’t mean well. Not in Lora’s opinion. And the fact that her father was so reasonable about it made her angry.

Breakfast consisted of cereal made from wheat, oats, and other ingredients grown inside the hab. And there was milk too, from the Sanctuary’s dairy cows, all of which was a miracle in a world where the rest of humanity fought over food. So rather than feel grateful, Lora felt guilty.

After breakfast she washed her bowl, put it on a rack to dry, and grabbed the backpack that was resting next to the worn couch. Then, careful to close the door quietly, Lora stepped outside. The center of the habitat’s core was empty except for the central column and the elevators clustered around it. The purpose of the space was to convey light down from above as well as promote air circulation and provide a sense of openness.

So as Lora tilted her head back, she could see people on the ramps that spiraled upward. Like every student, she knew that the Sanctuary housed roughly twenty-five hundred people, all descendants of the scientists and technicians stationed in the habitat when the war started.

But rather than follow the walkway around to the point where she could climb a ramp, Lora chose to cross a sky bridge to the central column instead. After a short wait on the open-air platform, Lora entered Elevator 4 and was pleased to discover that none of her father’s nutty friends were aboard. The lift rose smoothly and paused on Level 5, one of the highest rez rings. Would Becky or Kristy get on? Lora gave thanks when neither of them did.

The elevator stopped on eight, where Lora got off. A graceful bridge led her over the chasm below to one of the ag rings. That particular level was being used to grow garden vegetables. Lora, who had an interest in such things, took note of the coolness in the air. The misters had been on recently, and she could smell the moist soil.

It was so early that none of the ag workers had reported for duty yet, but that didn’t mean the area was deserted. Lora followed a maintenance path back to a storage shed and the jumble of tools, boxes, and tubing piled around it. And there, in keeping with long-standing practice, she uttered a low whistle.

The answering whistle came quickly. Lora circled around behind the piles of equipment to the point where Matt was seated on an upside-down planter. He had a mop of unruly hair, cheeks that were decorated with angry-looking zits, and a neck that was the source of his nickname: the giraffe. Matt wasn’t her boyfriend, but he was the only boy she had ever kissed, and the only one who said she was pretty. He winked at her and took a long drag from a hand-rolled cigarette. Lora wrinkled her nose as he exhaled. “Smoking is bad for you, and so is Cannabis sativa .”

Matt grinned. “You should try some, Lora. It would make you feel better.”

“I doubt that very much,” Lora said primly as she eyed the area around her. “Where are you growing it? Your family will be in trouble if the protectors find it.”

“They won’t,” Matt predicted confidently as he took another drag. “So how’s your father?”

Lora frowned. “Fine. Why?”

“My dad says your dad made a fool of himself last night. He told the council that the time has come to open the vaults and distribute seeds to people who need them. And when they told him to sit down, he started yelling. The protectors had to escort him out.”

Lora winced. She’d heard the argument a thousand times and read the charter her father liked to quote from. But the habitat had been sealed off for nearly two generations, and with the exception of a small group of leavers like her father, the rest of the population was happy with the way things were. It was easy to understand why. The nuclear war between India, Pakistan, and China had killed billions of people in a matter of days and millions more during the nuclear winter that followed. With all the particulates thrown up into the atmosphere by the explosions, there was less sunlight. That made it more difficult to grow food, and people starved.

So the keepers, meaning those who wanted to keep things the way they were, insisted that that conditions weren’t right for distributing seeds. After all, they argued, most of the people outside the Sanctuary were barbarians, so why give seeds to them? Besides, it was too cold to grow crops, even if the leavers found the right people to give seeds to.

But was that true? Or were the arguments the keepers put forward simply an excuse to do nothing while the citizens of the Sanctuary continued to live in comparative luxury? That’s what George Larsy believed, and his daughter was torn between the differing views. Regardless of who was right, she knew one thing for sure—her father’s intransigence was making her life miserable. But she wasn’t about to say that to Matt. “The council disapproves of smoking too. I guess you and my dad are two of a kind.”