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A.R.Yngve DARC AGES Book Three _________________________ |
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Chapter 3
And so, after several weeks' preparations, Mechao could declare: "Today we begin." Closely followed and comforted by Shara, Eye-Leg was brought to Mechao's sealed-off, sterile laboratory chamber, and minute tissue samples were taken from her body and inner organs -- including the brain. Darc marveled at the ease with which Mechao handled genetic material, but he also noticed the uneasiness in the old witchdoctor and his assistant sons and grandson. They were new to using the genetic molding and cloning equipment on human material, and felt the burden of breaking a taboo. Only Darc's repeated reassurance of the just cause convinced them to proceed. As the humidity and heat in the island air increased with the changing seasons, Eye-Leg began to feel visibly uncomfortable -- her health deteriorating in the new environment. Mechao and Darc had agreed on a a rapid, but more dangerous treatment process. They were to attempt a very crude alteration of Eye-Leg's cell samples: replacing all genes vital to the shaping of the body with undamaged genes from another woman. Next, they were to clone these cells into a living copy of Eye-Leg, minus the head and the deformities -- and speed up its growth in the artificial womb through electrochemical stimulation, until it corresponded to a brainless, but normal fourteen-year-old body. And finally, Eye-Leg's head was to be sedated, cooled down... and transplanted onto the fresh, cloned body. Growing the clone could take several months -- or years, if the first "copy" failed to live. Mechao's predecessors had taught him to perform successful head transplants on lower animals -- but the risk of failure remained large. His age-old laboratory, which once helped spawn the chimera-beast Pipo, was now ready to create a clone of Eye-Leg's body. Mechao claimed with confidence that he could grow a fourteen-year-old human body within a number of months -- and keep it alive by artificial means. Less confidently, he told his assistants it had to be done. Word of these plans soon reached Dohan. Meijji was the first to notice his reaction. "What is the matter?" she asked him; he responded with brooding silence. "Is it about that poor Leper?" He stayed silent in her company and she waited until, at the end of the day, he could speak his mind. "Things are going on in your father's laboratory, and I... does the Goddess, the All-Mother, approve of this tampering with nature?" Meijji stroked Dohan's chin stubble, which now seemed pale in contrast to his tanned skin. "Trust my father," she told him. "He, and his forefathers, have known the process of changing nature for centuries. And never during those centuries did they cause wrongdoing against nature or your Goddess. This new undertaking is meant to undo the damage done by men, and restore humans to their natural form. Isn't that proof enough, that the Goddess approves of my father's work?" He gave her a wry smile: "What about Pipo, then? Would that man-made beast never have harmed anyone?" She frowned and smiled at once, and scolded him angrily: "You stubborn, bullheaded..." Dohan silenced Meijji with his lips, and her hands moved to embrace his neck. A pause followed -- then Dohan forced his face away from her flowing dreadlocks. "Meijji, I am a warrior by nature. I go fat and lazy from standing idle here -- I must act in some way. I shall ask Darc about those plans of his, and help out where I can." Meijji pouted a little, and looked away. "I know, my love. You must follow your calling, but..." She felt at her lightly curved belly, and added: "Someday soon, there might come a reason for you to settle down with me." Dohan's heart jumped in his chest; a rush of fear and exaltation went through him. He kissed her goodnight, and departed to search out Darc. "Yes, Dohan, I still need your help," Darc told him. The white-haired time-traveler, now clad in a white coat and thin gloves, looked up from his microscope and nodded at the young warrior. "Can you get the Sunray up and flying again?" he asked. Dohan thought of piloting the jetfighter again, and made a spontaneous leap of joy onto a table -- Darc wondered quietly how such an impetuous teenager could act so responsibly at other times. "Yes, I can! One of Mechao's sons has analyzed the craft's jet fuel, and you what do I hear? He promised me that they could change the genes of certain small life forms, so that they produce the components of jet fuel for me! In a matter of days, they can grow a vat full of fuel! Pity, that none of them is an aircraft mechanic..." In spite of mounting technical problems, Darc made Dohan pledge that the Sunray would soon be ready for a flight to Castilia and back. Then, in confidence, Darc revealed his complex scheme to him -- and Dohan was delighted to hear it. He felt busy and useful again, and his hopes soared. One day, he would be able to marry Meijji and yet be reconciled with his family. As long as Darc lived, nothing seemed impossible. Shortly thereafter, Mechao's wife Amada rounded up the village council. She invited the council to her house, plus her many children and relatives as a show of strength. More than sixty villagers gathered in the mansion; Mechao and Darc were politely barred from attending. Several hours later, Darc sat with Pop Shah at a window facing the sea, trying to create a rendition of an ancient song. Then Shara knocked, and entered through the open doorway. "Girl's asleep now, but it breaks my heart to leave her in that cold, frightening laboratory." "What if we could come and play something for her? Have you met Eye-Leg, Pop Shah?" Pop Shah's hands stiffened and stopped playing; he shook his head. "Another day, maybe," Darc told Shara, as she sat down in his lap. "Any word from the village council?" Just as he asked that, one of Mechao's youngest grandchildren rushed in, breathless. The little girl bowed her head, and delivered a note. "It says here, the council voted approval for our trade expedition!" he said, smiling a little. "But it also says... I am to be guarded by two appointed, armed villagers. Our boat awaits us, now, at the camouflaged fishing-boat harbor." Pop Shah stood to attention, and his gritty voice, low but clear, said in his inimitable manner: "I need to go with you, yay I do, if your electric dream is to come true, that is what I say." "Electric what?" Shara asked suspiciously. "Darc, what are you up to this time?" "Wait and see," he replied with a mischievous smile. "I mean, wait and listen. When I come back. Don't worry." "I won't," she said, smiling. "Plenty for me to do here, in your grand scheme." The sleek, sea-blue catamaran was slightly larger than those of the popular long-distance boat races Darc recalled from his own time. Its small crew consisted of women only; Darc and Pop Shah were the only male passengers aboard. The boat left the island by aid of a small electric propeller and the crew waited until they were out in open water, before setting sails. The captain put them on a rapid, southeastern course across the calm, deep blue sea. While Darc was rubbing black dye into his white hair and eyebrows, he approached two of the crewmembers. They were sitting on deck, winding up sail tackle, humming a work song. In the light of dusk, Darc could hardly make out their dark-skinned faces. When the two women looked up at him, they both greeted him with the typical islander laugh that resembled a screech. "Just look at him!" the short one exclaimed and gestured wildly, flashing a gold tooth as she grinned. "Black hair and green eyes! Nobody's going to be fooled by that disguise!" Darc brightened up and said: "I know you two. You are the ones who put out the fire, when..." The shorter woman gave her tall companion an "I-told-you-so" glance, and replied in a more serious tone: "We missed the last opportunity to visit the mainland, so we're going shopping now." In a way, the two women were also disguised -- in rough but colorful dresses. Earrings, necklaces and other accessories were to be added later. The taller woman said, as if excusing her chubbier friend's behavior: "I'm Lucijja, and she's Faluti. Amada assigned us to look after you on the tour. Have you seen Dakchaor?" "No -- not even in my own time. What's it like?" Lucijja smiled at Darc, then at Faluti, and replied: "Shouldn't he rather be asking, what is it not like? Dakchaor, the city of the silver spires! The world's biggest open harbor! There's this song -- Pop Shah! Play!" The minstrel grinned, and started to pluck a rhythm on his strings. The women started clapping hands rhythmically, and sang a simple tune. "Bissaw is too humid, Noakchott too dry; Banju is too crowded, Konaki too small; Monroia is a beauty, but if you can't afford; Dakchaor you can thrive in, Dakchaor has it all." Darc did not know what to expect -- another fortified city-state, or just a miserable, overcrowded tropical village? Many things might change in nine centuries. He sat and listened as Lucijja and Faluti kept singing, until the sun sank into the ocean. "Monroia has the dishes, Noakchott the spice; Konaki the best women, Banju the best men; Bissaw has the riches, but if you are too poor; Dakchaor has the happy, Dakchaor has them all..." Their journey to Dakchaor took one night, one day, and one night. It proved uneventful, save for some tackle fishing on the way. Avoiding the main streaks of fishermen and traders, Darc's expedition sailed southeast, then north a few miles off the coast, then southeast again and into the port of Dakchaor. |
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