S. M. Stirling - Draka 03 - The Stone Dogs

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STONE DOGS

#3 in the Draka series

S.M. Stirling

TIMELINE OF THE DOMINATION OR THE DRAKA AND THE

TERRAN DISPERSAL

1947— Fisson power reactors; breeder reactor under

construction.

1948- Frederick and Marya Lefarge born, Hospital of the

Sacred Heart, New York.

1954— Yolande Ingolfsson born, Claestum Plantation, Italy.

Myfwany Venders born, Arethustra Plantation, Sicily.

1955- Ramjet suborbital missile exceeds Mach 8. 1959- First

scramjet flight to orbit.

1961- Space stations.

First " perscomp " marketed in Alliance, by Pacific Cyber

Systems

1962- Manned moon landings; first permanent Lunar

settlements.

1963- Successful activated transfer of mammalian genes,

Virunga Biocontrol Institute.

Alliance tests nuclear-fission pulsedrive vessel. First-generation

drive, using modified tactical weapon and graphite-sheathed

steel thrust plates.

Domination tests pulsedrive.

1964- Alliance, Draka expeditions to Asteroid Belt, Mars.

High-boost probes to Venus, Mercury, outer planets launched

from Earth Orbit.

1965- Magnetic catapult launchers on Luna, supply of

minerals to orbital fabricators in zero-G.

1966- First free-electron laser boost to orbit from Earth.

1968-9-Two-ship Van Riebeck expedition to Jupiter; one lost.

First Apollo-group (Earth-crossing) asteroid captured, brought

into Earth orbit.

1970- Second-generation pulsedrives; subcritical plutonium

pellets compressed by collision from railguns. Liquid reaction

mass used to cover carbon-carbon/steel thrustplates.

Permanent Draka settlement on Mars; orbital stations, mining

operations on Martian moons.

1973- Space-generated solar power beamed to Earth via

microwaves.

1975- Secession of Indian Republic from Alliance for

Democracy. Draka conquest of India.

1980- Third-generation pulsedrives; fission pellets

compressed by lasers

Fourth-generation pulsedrives; deuterium-tritium fusion pellets

imploded by laser/electron beam system.

1989- First planet-based fusion reactor, Nova Virconium,

Mars.

1996- Fifth-generation pulsedrive; deuterium-boron-II fusion

pellets.

PROLOGUE

VIRUNGA BIOCONTROL INSTITUTE

WEAPONS RESEARCH DIVISION

WEST RIFT PROVINCE

DOMINATION OF THE DRAKA

MARCH 1, 1969

"This is the first series," the project manager said; a stocky

brown-haired woman in her thirties. The wall lit up with a

three-dimensional rendering of a virus molecule. It was

color-coded, black and scarlet. "Yo'see how we've replaced —"

"Doctor Melford," the Senator said, with soft courtesy. The

other members of the audience turned slightly to catch his

words. "We've all absorbed as much technical information as

possible from the prep-files, and while I'm sure the computer

projections would be very interestin', perhaps… ?"

He was a tall man, eagle-faced, with silver-streaked blond hair

and mustache, conservatively dressed in indigo velvet and white

lace. There was no impatience in his posture, leaning back at his

ease in one of the two dozen swivel chairs that lined the little

auditorium. Still, the woman in the white lab coat flushed

slightly, coughed to cover it; her fingers moved on the controls.

"Well," she said. Her vowels had a rather crisp tone, an East

African accent; she had been born in these highlands. "Well, here

are the recordings of the chimp results."

The screen blanked for a moment and split. "The left is our

control sample, an' the right is the Series 24 D group."

Two enclosures, sealed under glass but green with flowers and

trees, like giant terrarias. The left showed a group of

chimpanzees foraging, grooming, playing; one male reared up on

his hind legs and then ran screaming down a slope, flailing the

ground with a bamboo, a threat display. On the right, nearly the

same.

"This is an hour after the introduction of the activating

factor; yo' understand, there has to be stress fo' the altered

enzyme chain to… Ah, here."

One of the chimps in the right-hand group had snatched a

palm-heart from her neighbor. The victim rolled back and bared

her teeth, then suddenly leaped. Both animals went over in a blur

of limbs and grass and shrieking.

"This is highly atypical, yo' see. Chimps do fight to the death,

but very seldom—yes." The victor had risen, the blunt

almost-human face wet with blood; she was dancing on the

dying animal's form, with leaps and arm-waving. The others

were visibly agitated, hooting and moving back and forth in

distress. Then two more began to fight; a mother picked up her

infant and slammed it on the ground, over and over, until a big

male leapt on her back and began tearing…

The Senator watched, stony-faced amid his silent aides. The

plainly-clad woman at the heart of the other clump laughed

aloud. A minute passed, and nothing living remained on the

right-hand screen. To the left, a picture of the innocence before

the birth of man.

"It seems," he said, "that yo've been makin' progress, Doctor."

She nodded eagerly." 'Specially since yo' got us the new

computer," she said, one hand caressing the row of pens in her

breast pocket with a nervous gesture.

The Senator smiled for the first time. "Thank the Yankees; it

was the best we could steal," he said dryly. "How confident are

yo' that these-here results can be transferred to humans?"

"Very, yes," the geneticist nodded. "Chimps are the best

possible test subjects, they're so close to us. Ninety-eight percent

genetic congruence, only five million years since the last common

ancestor, which… Yes. We've managed to move the focus of the

infection from the immune to the limbic systems without'n

much trouble; the original affected the neurological… Well, it

wasn't much trouble. The problem is gettin' it activated with the

sort of arbitrary external stimulus yo' wanted, sir. We've gotten

promisin' results usin 'particular frequencies of strobe-lightin',

the grand mat trigger effect, yo' know? The endorphine response

is modified into a feedback loop. That still needs work."

The woman to the Senator's left spoke, in a flat Angolan

accent: "What's y're success rate?" She was younger than the

Senator, perhaps forty-five, head of a committee in the House of

Representatives that attracted little public attention.

Melford nodded at the right-hand screen. "Ovah 99%; no

point in 'finin' it down further until we moves to human

subjects."

"In y' professional opinion, is this project go or no-go?"

"Go." A decisive nod. "Provided we get the necessary fundin'

an' personnel. Mo' work on the vector—we're still relyin' on blood

to blood—and the secondary keyin' sequence. Four years, eight

maximum an' well have it on-spec."

"Chiliarch," the Senator said. A man in the olive-green

uniform of the Security Directorate spread his hands and laid his

fingertips on the desk before him.

"It's tight. Jus' this one facility, an' the Institute's normal

activity is good cover. The computer's not physically connected

to any datalink. Nothin' certain in my line of work, but I'd bet

mah tender pink ass this'un can be kept close. Until operational

deployment, of course."

"Ah." The Senator dropped his chin onto the steepled fingers

of both hands, and the lids drooped over his narrow gray eyes.

"Doctor, what about keepin' it from the Yankees when we deploy

it against the Alliance?"

"Well." A frown. "Well, they're not as, ummm, sophisticated at

biotech as we are. Those Luddite fanatics of theirs who keep

protestin' every time they try to use somethin', and then again

they can't test humans to destruction the way we can. Sloppy.

Still, they've got some good people."

She paused. "Very unlikely fo' the virus to be discovered —I'm

assuming nothin' goes wrong with the clandestine operations

side. We'd have trouble findin' that bug iff'n we didn't know

what to look for. These retroviruses are cunnin' critters at

concealin' themselves, and we've tweaked it until even the

immune system is completely fooled. Yo'd have to puree the

subject's nerve tissue an' do a congruent-DNA sample test

series… unless it was activated, of course. That'd produce gross

abnormalities and yo' could follow them back. It's less a disease

than gene-surgery, really."

The Senator looked across to his colleague; she nodded and

spoke: "What'll yo' need?"

"Ummm, more funding. More personnel, as Ah said. And

experimental subjects, of course. Several hundred humans,

assorted gender an' age in the postpubescent range, prefrably the

same ethnic mix as the target population. Very delicate to get it

contagious but with a failsafe turn-off. Don't want it becomin' a

global pandemic, do we?"

"Wodan, no," the Senator said. "Well, Doctor Melford, certain

othahs will have to be consulted, but unofficially I think yo' can

take it that the project will be approved fo' further development."

He rose. "Service to the State."

"Glory to the Race," the scientist answered absent-

absentmindedly as the audience left; she was keying the machine

again, reviewing the additional resources that would be needed.

"Well, how do y' like it?"

"Nice view," the Senator said, nodding down from the terrace

toward the lake and drawing on his cigarette.

The Virunga Biocontrol Institute was built in the hills

overlooking Lake Kivu, at the southern edge of the Virunga

range. A century old now, almost as old as Draka settlement in

these volcanic highlands. Low whitewashed buildings of

stone-block, roofs of plum-colored tile, almost lost among the

vegetation; the gardens were flamboyantly lovely even by the

Domination's standards, fertile lava soils and abundant rain and

a climate of eternal spring. National park stretched north and

west, to the Ituri lowlands: haunt of gorilla and chimp, elephant

and hippo and leopard; of the Bambuti pygmies also, left to their

Old Stone Age existence.

Plantations stretched widely elsewhere across the steep slopes,

green coffee and tea and sheets of flowers grown for

air-freighting elsewhere; the air was scented with them, cool and

sweet. The city of Arjunanda lay two thousand feet below by the

waters, turned to a model by distance: buildings white and blue

and violet with marble and tile, avenues bordered with

jacaranda and colonnades roofed in climbing rose and

frangipani. Even the factories and labor-compounds that ringed

it were comely, bordered by hedge and garden. Sails speckled the

waves, and they could see the pleasure boats beating back

toward the docks, and dirigibles lying silvery in the waterfront

haven.

"It's a famous beauty-spot," the woman said with elaborate

sarcasm, indicating the sun setting behind the mountains to

their right, amid clouds turned to the colors of brass and blood.

"No mo' games, man."

He flicked the butt of the cigarette over the railing. Like her,

to be cold even when she's angry. You can see why our enemies

nicknamed us " snakes," looking at her. The burning speck fell

like a tiny meteor, to lie winking for a second before one of the

Institute outdoor serfs arrived to sweep it up.

"It might work," he said quietly.

"It will work. This time yo' suspicions of biotech don't wash.

And this project was mah price fo' supportin' yo' pet schemes."

"Granted."

They gave each other a glance of cool mutual hatred and

turned again to the view beneath. Shadow was falling across the

city and the lake as the first stars appeared above. The

streetlights of Anunanda flicked on in a curving tracery, and the

lamps of the plantation manors scattered down the hills. An

airship had cast off from the haven, and the thousand-meter

teardrop rose from darkness into light as it circled, bound

northward with cut flowers and electrowafers, strawberries and

heavengrape wine.

"Have yo' ever wondered," the Senator said meditatively, "why

we Draka love flowers so?"

The woman blinked, her fox-sharp face shadowed in the dim

glow. "No, can't say as I have," she said neutrally. "Why?"

"They're safer to love than human bein's," he said

thoughtfully. "An' unlike humans, they deserve it." He turned.

"I'll be in contact aftah I speak to the Archon."

CHAPTER ONE

Representatives of the Alexandria Technological Institute

today announced that the fetal-transplant process has been

cleared for Citizen use after extensive testing. "Ova may now be

stored indefinitely in frozen form, either before or after

fertilization, then warmed and implanted in either the donor or

a host-mother." Eugenics Directorate officials are enthusiastic

about the technique, which they say removes the last biological

constraints on the reproduction and improvement of the Citizen

population. Clinics offering transplant services will be

established throughout the Domination; healthy serf wenches to

act as host-mothers will be provided for those who have none

suitable in their own households. In addition. Citizens with

outstanding mental and physical characteristics will be asked to

make contributions to sperm and ova banks. Once brought to

term in host-mothers, the Infants will be offered for adoption

into selected Citizen families or raised in the Education

Directorate's existing orphanages. It is expected that over the

next twenty years, these measures will at least double the present

Citizen birthrate of 24 per thousand, enabling Citizen women to

do their reproductive duty to the Race without interfering with

their military and other commitments. Even greater

improvements are to be anticipated shortly, when

gene-engineering becomes practical.

Alexandria Herald

May 8, 1962

CLAESTUM PLANTATION

DISTRICT OF TUSCANY

PROVINCE OF ITALY

DOMINATION OF THE DRAKA

SEPTEMBER 1, 1964

Eric von Shrakenberg paused at the edge of the steps, looking

up at the constellations of the northern hemisphere. This was the

north front of his sister Johanna's Tuscan plantation manor; the

stone pathway wound up to the crest of the hill under ancient

trees, oak and cypress and chestnut. They had been here long

before the Eurasian War, but the new masters of Europe had

changed the patch of forest to suit their tastes. He could hear the

tinkle of water ahead, smell the damp scents of new-cut grass

and flowers; roses, he thought, opening their blooms to the hot

Italian night. Sweat tickled his flanks under the linen of his

djellaba robe, under the leather of the shoulder-holster harness

beneath it.

For a moment, he considered going back to the birthday

party, rather than seeking out his sister and her husband. No, he

decided. The people were salt of the earth, no doubt about that.

Local planters, of course, overseers, Combine and League execs

from the nearby towns… not many of them personally known to

him. And face it, provincial, he thought. And politics keeps me

in Archona too much, and Johanna and Tom seem to have

grown on to this place like a pair of barnacles.

He would not have thought it of her, or of Thomas Ingolfsson

either, when the man had been a neighbor and a friend and a

rakehell fighter pilot in his sister's squadron, back during the

War… Well, time and marriage and children do change us, he

thought, and walked up the steps. The stone was smooth and

warm and slightly gritty under his bare feet.

"Shhhh, Lele!" Yolande Ingolfsson hissed.

The night was quiet on this side of the hill; the house was

visible only as a glow through the treetops ahead of them, the

noise of the guests less than that of the crickets and nightjars

and the slow rubbing of branch and thicket. Away to her right in

the valley were the lights of the Quarters, but the party there

would have ended sooner, the plantation-hands had to be back at

their work tomorrow, getting ready for the vintage.

The serf girl beside her looked subdued. Yolande sighed to

herself as she squirmed on her stomach past the topiary bush.

This whole birthday party for Ma had been boring. The gifts

were stupid stuff, mostly: statues and paintings and jewelry, or

Combine shares and like that. She gritted her teeth. And her

cousin Alexandra von Shrakenberg had been put in charge of the

children's part of the celebrations, and that was… was…

impossible, she decided; that was the word. Being ten was

impossible, too.

Alexandra's only thirteen, that's only three years older than

me, she thought resentfully. Stuck-up. Because she was in Senior

School; all she could talk about was the serious things they had

to study and the boring love affairs at school and how her

parents' estate in France was prettier than Claestum…

Yolande heard voices and string-music from uphill. There was

a waist-high circle of clipped hedge ten meters before them. Her

eyes estimated the ground the way the instructor at school told

the children. The slope here was down from the wooded crest,

and to the north; there was an artificial stream coming down,

falling through a stepped marble trough in a chuckling tumble.

Cypresses on either side, opening out into circles around the

pools, each with its benches and flowerbeds, and the hedges

around those. So.

She looked back at Lele. The serf girl was nearly her age. Deng

the foreman's daughter, one of Yolande's birthday presents,

given to her like a puppy five years ago. I'm getting too old to

play with serfs, Yolande decided. Tantie Rahksan's son Ali had

been fun, always ready to climb and stuff, but he had gotten all

sullen and close-mouthed lately. Lele was better, but she was so

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