textfiles/stories/fic2

Experiment
Copyright (c) 1993, Ed Davis
All rights reserved



                                    EXPERIMENT


         The speeding vehicle, built to resemble an elongated rain drop,
      raced across the plains, rushing toward the mountains ahead.  Safely
      and comfortably nestled inside, seventeen young people napped, chatted,
      or watched the video monitors built into the overhead.  Their journey
      was nearly over, another two hours and they would step out of their
      metallic cocoon and bask in the sunny radiance of the western beaches.
      The excitement ahead was too much on their minds to allow the sameness
      of the passing scenery to attract their notice.
         Their slim bodies, with cleanly formed limbs and torsos, were store
      houses.  Store houses of untainted genetic messengers.  They were,
      along with seventeen other youngsters making the same trip on the
      northern route, unique in their society.  Most people were tainted with
      mutated genes, a side effect of the massive, cumulative effects of
      chemical contamination.  The thirty four young people were the pampered
      objects of a massive government effort.  Success would restore genetic
      sanity to a world no longer polluted but gravely damaged.  Scientists
      were talking hopefully about gene transplants, to restore normal
      procreation.  The hopes of the nation rode in two silvered cocoons.
         As is always the case, one passenger was different.  One black
      haired man was turned away from the hectic entertainment filling the
      video screen.  Since his was the only single seat in the two rows of
      twined bucket seats, he was not involved in conversation with anyone.
      Instead, his face was plastered against the two inch thick glass of the
      small window.  His eyes darted from one passing landmark to another, as
      the sleek train slashed across the dusty landscape.  Surface travel, at
      nearly three hundred miles per hour was swift but not scenic.  To a
      young man, however, the newness of the experience was excuse enough to
      keep him glued to the view port.
         Matthew Brogan, still clenched tightly in his deeply molded chair by
      the twin shoulder harness and single lap strap, was the first to notice
      the vibration.  His inexperience with the newly encountered mode of
      travel caused him to hesitate before saying anything to his fellow
      passengers.  His sixty second delay carried the seventeen youths
      twenty-six thousand feet further toward their destination and saved
      them the foreknowledge of their impending crash.  He, however, was not
      spared the visual impact of watching the ground vanish below his view,
      as the vehicle levitated and left the single track guiding its
      direction.  Vibration was gone and the sudden lack of the soft hum of
      the track alerted all the young people that a change was taking place.
         The next change was drastic and terrifying.  Pivoting on its axis,
      the train twirled slowly.  The plush interior changed suddenly, from
      the friendly clutter of people traveling a long distance, into a
      turning collage of cups, papers, clothing and disoriented bodies.
      Suddenly heads bumped, arms twisted and legs kicked in futile attempts
      at balance.
         The sleek tear drop fell gradually to earth again, its speed slowed
      below two hundred miles per hour.  The grasses of the prairie could do
      little to cushion the fall and the soil beneath became a two mile long
      strip of sand paper.  The titanium skin of the right side abraded away
      quickly with a small shower of sparks.  The skeleton of aluminum struts
      lasted but a few seconds longer, giving off no sparks.  The speeding
      projectile was traveling at less than one third of its peak speed when
      the interior wall abraded through.  Seats vanished in a gut wrenching
      scream of torn metal.  Four people strapped in their seats vanished
      into the speeding earth instantly and four more screamed into oblivion
      before the still moving train gouged into a small hill and stopped
      abruptly.  The remaining passengers, not strapped in or fortunate
      enough to have become wedged between seats, were smashed into
      unrecognizable oblivion.
      
         The only sound in the destroyed vehicle was the soft clump of sandy
      soil falling from the remains of the fuselage's left hand section and
      the ragged breathing of the four survivors still buckled in their
      seats.  None of the four were aware of their survival, they were safely
      wrapped in the protection of unconsciousness.  Small beams of light
      penetrated the settling dust and awaited the young people's return to
      the world.
      
         Matthew felt something prying at the clasp on his safety harness and
      struggled to maintain his only chance of surviving the crash he did not
      remember.  He opened his eyes and saw a female form attacking his waist
      in a renewed effort to loosen the stubborn clasp.
         "Quit.  I'll do it."  His own voice sounded alien, distant.  He was
      confused.
         "Well, hurry.  Everyone else is outside.  We're worried about an
      explosion, like on the videos."  The form withdrew, limping painfully.
         Matthew speeded up his efforts and was soon startled to find himself
      falling nearly ten feet to the earthen wall below his right shoulder.
      Nothing was right.  The floor was a wall and the wall, with its
      accompanying row of seats was missing.  In its place was a solid dirt
      surface, barely visible but eminently touchable, sprinkled liberally
      with large, sharp edged stones.  He brushed his arm, then his hip, and
      struggled to find the exit the female form had used.  The pain in his
      stomach, a seat belt abrasion he would later discover, and the
      stiffness in his neck were his sole discomfort.  He was grateful and
      surprised.
         The cave like interior was barely illuminated and the opening to the
      outside was small.  Finally, he spotted a brighter area ahead and
      crawled toward the expected opening.
         Shocking brilliance greeted the last escapee.  The fiery ball of the
      setting sun passed behind a thin strip of clouds and created a
      temporary, reddened Saturn.  The newly formed planet lost its shape
      quickly as the lowering sun rushed behind the horizon.  Matthew could
      see little except the brilliant redness.  Knowing that he had hung
      there in the opening while the sun set, he was nevertheless unable to
      restore his sense of timing.  Minutes slipped past in an instant.
         Darkness fell like a wetted blanket.  Blackness ate the remaining
      light in another misadjusted time interval, hiding the other survivors
      from the last man out of the shattered train.
         "Over here!"  Three voices called from the darkness.
         Voices seemed to come from everywhere.  Matthew's bewilderment was
      total.
         "Where are you?  I can't see you."
         "Stay there, I'll come get you."  A small feminine voice called from
      the cloying darkness.  Without the accustomed comfort of air
      conditioning, the air passing over his body seemed to have tentacle
      like appendages, which clutched at his skin and caused his flesh to
      crawl.
         The touch of the young woman was another irritation until he
      recognized that she was there to lead him away from the destroyed
      train.  He reached for her arm, his fear more evident than he liked.
         "Thank you."  His voice carried a tremor which passed unnoticed in
      the clatter of his descent down the side of the train's smooth carcass.
      Matthew kept the feminine hand clutched tightly in his own.
         Starlight helped little as the lonely prairie waited for the moon's
      arrival.  Without light there were no shadows.  The invisible earth
      beneath their feet was covered with dry, crackling grasses.
         Suddenly they were confronted with two blacker forms in the darkness
      of the night.  The survivors were all together.
         "They will send help..."  The second small voice, feminine and
      trembling in the darkness, was more a question than a statement.  None
      of the stranded foursome had any idea where they were or what they
      could expect.
         Time passed slowly and the young people soon huddled together,
      gathering what little comfort they could from the presence of the
      others.  The deep darkness of sleep finally wrapped them in its folds.
      
         The alarm bell clanged loudly for a full second before the robot
      manager silenced it with an electronic command.  The same command
      passed through the computer forming the robot's brain and sent another
      alarm coursing along the slender glass fibers connecting the train
      command center with the transportation center, three hundred miles
      away.
         The man working the console watched the panel of lights blinking, as
      the different transportation systems performed their ritual like
      movements.  Nothing ever happened.  The robots managed the repetitive
      tasks of switching, routing, and flow control, without a single glitch.
         Jason Malcom was bored.  His only consolation was that his mundane
      job was scheduled for replacement with one of the new computers.  Great
      strides had been made recently in Mechanical Intelligence, and the new
      machines were said to be wonders of logic.  The newest, his
      replacement, was capable of creative thought and was therefore a
      suitable manager for the complexities of the West Coast Transportation
      System.  Two more months, Jason mused, as a new light came to life.
         The red lens over the glowing lamp radiated more than light; there
      was danger and probable disaster beaming out from the control panel.
         Jason pushed the reset button for the light, asking the robot on the
      other end of the circuit to recheck the alarm.  The light lost its glow
      for almost fifteen seconds and then renewed its gleaming alarm status.
         "Damn!"
         Jason swiveled his chair and reached for the microphone resting on
      the counter.  He hesitated before pressing the switch.  He knew the
      words he would speak would cause a fury.  The train had carried a
      precious cargo and the chances that there was a minor derailment were
      slim.  At three hundred miles per hour, any loss of rail contact was
      certain to be disastrous.  He also knew how limited the response would
      be, rescue from the vastness of the central prairie was a major
      undertaking.  Once filled with life, the area was now a place of
      dangers and difficulties.  Thousands of square miles of grass and
      rolling earth made searching nearly impossible.  The broiling sun
      scorched everything, with no trees to provide shelter from the hammer
      blows of the heat.  Most dangerous of all were the creatures of the
      area.  He was glad he would not be one of those chosen to venture into
      the area.  He grasped the microphone and keyed the transmitter to life.
         "Communication Center, this is Jason at Transportation.  Come in
      please."
         Seconds ticked away while the man on the other end of the radio link
      awoke and realized that something had happened.
         "This is Comm Center, Morton here.  Go ahead."
         "I have an derailment signal from the Prairie Bullet.  The initial
      alert has been confirmed.  All communications with the Bullet are out
      and all indications point to a major crash."
         Jason listened to the hiss of static and could almost hear the
      "Damn" originating on the other end of the radio link.
         "Roger, I understand.  I'll contact the Governor and the Coastal
      Guard.  Out."
         "This is Transportation, out."
         Jason released the microphone and could imagine the furor he had
      caused with his announcement.  The limited resources of the Coastal
      Guard and the Governor's office would soon be strained to the limit,
      but the effort had to be made.  The seventeen people on that train were
      half of a group who represented the last hope for the country.  Their
      perfect genetic pool was to be the new beginning for a repopulation
      effort unmatched in human history.  Without them the effort was doomed
      to failure.
         Jason did not understand all the complications involved, but knew
      that cloning and in vitro fertilization were producing mutants not
      healthy babies, and that the powers of government were frantic to
      reverse the situation.  There had been no normal conceptions in human
      memory.  The thirty-four youngsters were the sole hope for a renewed
      genetic pool.  If the program failed, Jason knew, the country would
      soon be populated with robots, androids and the wild creatures of the
      wildernesses.  His heart lay heavy with fear as he leaned back in his
      chair and returned to watching the battery of blinking lights.
      
         The sun was high in the eastern sky before the sleeping quartet
      roused.  They had tossed and turned fitfully during the early hours of
      darkness after surrendering to exhaustion in the first hours of
      darkness.  None of them expected to be alive when the sun rose.  All
      the stories of the horrors waiting in the wild areas haunted the group
      and made their last hours of sleep far less than restful.
         Matthew was the first to open his eyes and face the fact that they
      had managed to survive an entire night in the open.  His grumbling
      stomach was the first sound he heard.  The second belonged to the other
      male member of the group, echoing the thought racing through his mind.
         "What do we do now?"
         "We find some food, first."
         "Then we better find the rail that thing was traveling on.  The
      rescue teams will be looking along the track first and we will have a
      better chance there than here."  The man's voice was strident, near the
      edge of panic.
         "But where is the track?"  The higher pitched voice of one of the
      women was also edged with hysteria, as she looked around the grassy
      expanse of their new world.
         "That way."  Matthew thrust his thumb in the direction the train had
      traveled in its airborne trip to the present resting place.  "We are
      probably ten to fifteen miles from the track.  We were in the air for
      more than a minute." 
         "How do you know?"
         Matthew turned to face the frightened and sneering questioner, the
      last female member of the group.
         "I was watching out the window when we left the rail.  We were
      traveling very fast and flew through the air for a long time.  At the
      speed we were traveling we covered five miles in a minute.  Walking
      back will take a lot longer."
         The small figure confronting Matthew lost her belligerence and
      surrendered to the reality of his revelations.  Her smile was weak but
      sincere.
         "I'm sorry.  You aren't to blame for this mess.  My name is
      Christina, Christina Mobely.  What is yours?"
         "Matthew Brogan."
         "Lois Benneman," the nearly hysterical woman injected.
         "Martin Halvet."
         The introductions were less formal than the participants were
      accustomed to, but the circumstances seemed to call for informality.
         The small group of chastened youngsters followed Matthew as he
      returned to the demolished train.  The shattered spheroid had not
      exploded as they feared and was sparkling in the sunlight.  From their
      vantage point it looked as if it had settled gently to the earth and
      rested there, half buried.  They all realized that the unseen half was
      spread out behind the gleaming remainder like a grotesque tail.  None
      of them looked in that direction, fearing they might see the remains of
      their companions.  All four limped down the small hill, hesitant but
      hungry.  While not seriously hurt, they each had twisted muscles and
      darkening bruises.
         Matthew stopped beside the half train and waited to see if any of
      the others would enter the shattered cylinder.
         The others stood, accepting Mathews's leadership and waiting for his
      guidance.
         "Who helped me get out last night?"
         "I did,"  The slender red head, Christina, stepped forward,
      answering softly.
         "Does the help extend to getting me back inside," Matthew smiled.
         "Sure, what can I do?"
         "Put your hands together and give me a step up."
         The young woman flinched when he put his weight on her clasped hands
      but held her position despite the pain of her twisted wrist.  Matthew
      noticed the flinch and scrambled quickly out of the volunteered stool
      and up the slope of the train's shell.
         Darkness faced the reluctant explorer and he hesitated momentarily
      before clenching his teeth and slipping inside.
         The familiar interior was twisted ninety degrees, but was
      recognizable, and Matthew went directly to the pantry compartment.
      Fortunately it survived with the left half of the train.  The heavy
      door was twisted enough to make easy access impossible.  Matthew looked
      around the cluttered ground, searching for something to pry the door
      open.  He ignored the crumpled bodies which were piled together at the
      base of the bulkhead, and concentrated his search in the less grisly
      areas of the cabin.
         Behind a sprung open door he located a tool box and quickly
      discovered a long screwdriver.  The other tools were unfamiliar, except
      for a sheath knife.  He tucked the knife in his belt and returned to
      the reluctant door with the screwdriver.
         The stubborn panel swung open with infuriating ease, when persuaded
      with the leverage of the screwdriver, and revealed its treasure.  Food
      for seventeen people, even the two meals he found, amounted to a large
      stack of envelopes, packets, and cans.  Matthew was smilingly pleased
      when he made his way back to the entrance and called for some help.
         The slim legs sliding into the sunlit opening belonged to the red
      head, Matthew recognized her white canvass shoes.  The other woman wore
      leather sandals.  He was glad she had come, he liked her willingness to
      help and her ability to control the panic she felt.  She accepted his
      assistance and entered the darkened interior.
         The two survivors were strangers, but similar in their understanding
      of what was now required to survive.  Neither wished to face the
      possibility of prolonged living in the wild area they had heard so many
      frightening stories about.  They each knew, however, that they would
      face that dilemma when and if they must.
         "Food.  The pantry survived and there's some canned and packaged
      food in it."
         "A tool box, with a knife.  A screwdriver too."  Matthew added his
      discoveries like news clips tacked to the bottom of video broadcasts.
         "Great, we could use some light in here.  There must be more things
      we can use.  A weapon would be handy if we run into some of the wild
      animals that roam this area."
         "Let's get the food out first."
         "Here, use this pillow case and I'll find another."
         The labor of the unloading and packing the food was quickly ended
      with the prompt and efficient division of labor.  Christina was able to
      wriggle around the twisted wreckage and retrieve five hidden pillows
      and several leather pouches, carried aboard the train by some of the
      male passengers.
         The two young people worked around the piled corpses and ignored the
      issue of disposing of their dead fellow passengers.  None of the
      seventeen people had ever met before the train left the nation's
      capitol, making the crumpled bodies less of an emotional strain than if
      they had been friends.
         The piled up pillow cases, articles of clothing, and the remains of
      the tool box made a rather pitiful stack under the opening to the
      outside.  Matthew boosted Christina back through the opening and began
      passing the scavenged supplies up to her waiting grasp.  He heard the
      scuffing sounds and the rattle of the canned goods as she let the bags
      slide down the rounded skin of the train.  The last load raised a loud
      din and Matthew knew the tool box was on the ground.  He decided to
      take one last look through the demolished interior.  He wanted all the
      help he could get and was still looking for a weapon, something more
      effective than the sheath knife still stuck in his waist band.
         "Nothing, damnit."  He muttered under his breath, barking his shin
      on a protruding seat back.  He shook his head in frustration and bent
      forward to rub the tingling bump on his leg.  The light from the
      opening over his head fell on a squared off shaft of what appeared to
      be wood.
         Matthew grasped the whitish protrusion and pulled.  The length of
      wood moved slightly and stuck solid.  Determined now not to lose his
      battle with the reticent shaft.  He renewed his grasp and double
      gripped his left hand with his right.  He set his feet firmly and
      pulled with all the strength he could muster.  The shaft, nearly six
      feet long, pulled free slowly and finally bumped against the wall over
      Matthew's head.  The center of the six foot length was smoothly rounded
      and fit his hand comfortably.  Someone, dead now, had fashioned the
      staff with loving care.  The workmanship was evident even in the
      darkness, the wood had the smooth feel and almost sticky grip of sanded
      and waxed wood.  Matthew was pleased, here was a weapon of real value.
      The smile on his face lasted until he handed the staff out to the red
      head, climbed out of the train, and witnessed the other two members of
      the group tearing into the bags of foodstuffs and supplies.  They were
      stuffing the choicest morsels from each bag into their mouths and
      pockets as quickly as they could manage to open a new bag.
         Matthew allowed all his pent up anger and fear, accumulating since
      he first detected the train moving off the rail, to burst over the pair
      of greedy youths feeding below him.  He fell on them with kicks, curses
      and thrusts of his new weapon.  The woman fell back instantly but the
      man, taller and broader than Matthew by six inches, fought for the
      booty he had done nothing to earn.
         The struggle was short lived and the tasty morsels the larger man
      had gulped down ended up on the ground, as he threw up what had been
      his hastily consumed lunch.
         Matthew calmed down as quickly as he had begun.  The food stores
      were safe, for the moment at least.
         Christina chastised the wrong doers with a surprisingly sharp tongue
      and left them feeling like a cross between a petty thief and a child
      molester.  She moved to Matthew's side and smiled her approval of his
      rescue of their scanty resources.
         "We'll have to watch that pair..."  Matthew grunted.
         "You're right, but we need to get started back toward the rail.  If
      we ever hope to get rescued."
         "Christina, don't count too heavily on getting any help.  Our
      government has very little power at home and still less here.  If there
      was any hope of being rescued, we would have seen something by now.
      Governments are terribly good at making noises, and plans too for that
      matter, but they seem to fall apart when it comes to achieving
      anything.  I am afraid we were another grandiose plan that died."
         "But what are we to do?"
         "Survive."
         The single word hung in the air like a strong smell, unpleasant, but
      undeniable.
      
         Sunset found the foursome stretched out single file along a quarter
      mile of the dry plain.  Matthew was leading, with Christina following
      close behind.  Her shorter legs were no match for his long strides, but
      her gameness kept her close.  The other couple straggled behind.  Lois
      was close to the lead couple and Martin was several hundred yards
      further back.  Each person carried a leather pouch, a pillow case, and
      a slim flask of water.  As Matthew watched, Martin tossed his water jug
      aside, the drained container carelessly littering the prairie.  Matthew
      shook his head in exasperation.  Would the foolish man never learn.
      Martin had eaten nearly half of his share of the rations before the
      first hour of the march was over.  Now his water was gone as well.
         Christina caught up with Matthew and followed his frown back toward
      the stumbling Martin.
         "He's not going to make it, he's already eaten nearly all his food."
         "Yea, and he just threw his water flask away.  Damn fool."
         Matthew's sympathy for the greedy man was thin indeed.  He despised
      people who could not see the obvious, especially when their nose was
      soiled with the truth.
         Lois huffed and puffed up the small incline and flopped at
      Christina's feet.  Her smile was weak but still showed her gameness.
         "Never thought I'd have to walk all the way to this new and exciting
      life we were promised.  You two don't think this is what they meant, do
      you?"
         All three young people laughed, a bitter edge touching their humor.
      They had been promised a new and exciting part to play in the
      restoration of man as the dominant species on the continent...  Or
      something like that.  All the fancy speeches began running together
      into a jumble of long and meaningless words.  They all figured they
      were to be some sort of experimental animals for the geneticists on the
      west coast.  Well fed and pampered, they all planned to have their
      leisure hours filled with pleasure and self oriented activities.
      Matthew had designs on broadening his study of history and science.
      Christina was interested in botany and biology, with a smattering of
      painting thrown in for leavening.  Lois had planned to pursue her
      interest in old literature and new theater.  Martin was dedicated to
      his appetites, culinary and sexual, calculating that among the pampered
      and the pamperers he would find plenty to satisfy all his needs.
         The four represented a strange mix of interests and experience.
      None was trained for the situation they now faced.  Their moment of
      strained humor emphasized their desperate situation.  Concern marked
      their faces, especially Martin's.  His struggle to cross the remaining
      ground between himself and the small gathering was pitiful to watch.
      Twice he started to discard the pillow case slung over his shoulder and
      twice remembered the food inside.  His steps, merely reluctant at
      first, had become the shuffling movements of an old man.  With rescue
      moments away, he had voted to stay beside the shattered train.  He left
      only after everyone else vanished from his sight.
         Matthew turned away from the struggling man and scanned the scene
      before him.  The gently undulating land was unmarked by trees or any
      landmarks.  He knew a little of the history of the area, but nothing
      much about current life forms.  Traditionally the vast areas of the
      continent's center were the breadbasket of the nation.  Pollution and a
      sharp decline in the population halted the massive farm machines faster
      than the energy shortages of the previous century.  The carefully
      tended acreages fell fallow and slowly returned to their former
      wildness.  The cities faded more slowly, as tax rolls emptied and
      people abandoned them for the more lively coastal areas.  Finally the
      cities were inhabited by the few diehards and those who could not move.
      Their mutated offspring became the monsters mothers threatened children
      with, instead of the bogey man.  The passage of time left the center of
      the country in the control of those mutants.  Their numbers and the
      exact nature of their mutations were never recorded.  Those who tried
      to find out never returned.
         What lay ahead for the ragged foursome looked bleak.  Twenty year
      old Matthew shuddered despite his conviction that he would survive this
      horror.  His plans for the future did not include bleaching his
      fleshless bones on this barren plain.
         His jaw was set in firm determination when he turned to face the
      other three members of the group.  He would bring all of them out, if
      he could.
      
         Three days later the sun was sliding to its nightly repose, but a
      jagged line of mountains was marking the horizon instead of the
      straight line of more prairie.  The next few sunsets would find the
      four walkers in a land of trees, water and hopefully food.
         Matthew and Christina huddled together against the evenings cold and
      whispered their hopes for the future.
         "Will there be people, there?"
         Her question served to ask a multitude of other questions.  Neither
      of them could answer, they were afraid of a negative answer.  Their
      plans were made for a future only hours away, instead of years.  Their
      hopes were for food, water, and the other necessities of life, not the
      gentler study of this ancient custom or that.
         "Whatever there is, we'll be better off than out here in this
      desolation We should be able to find some shelter, or build some.  And
      I hope we can find some source of food.  Our supplies are getting low."
         The pair fell into reflective silence and finally sleep.  Their
      problems would have to wait for another day.  The chilled air pushed
      them together for comfort, their loneliness and growing affection bound
      them tight.
         Lying beside Lois, but terribly alone, Martin accepted his fate.
      His choices were gone.  His plans of hedonistic leisure were gone.
      Unfair or not, he could fight or starve.  His last choice was
      starvation.
      
         The day of their arrival was delayed by six.  More distant than
      their eyes had judged, the mountains finally surrendered their bounty
      to the exhausted foursome.  Rabbits, unconcerned for the arrival of the
      people, fell to Matthew's thrown staff.  Greens, some from the slow
      moving stream and some from the lush floor of the forest, added to
      their diet, as did the grains they gathered from the tall plants of the
      prairie itself.  Work was required, but their survival was no longer a
      desperate concern.  Life began to assume a new normalcy.  With their
      days timed to the metronome rising and setting of the sun, they each
      found a way to rationalize their new existence.
         Martin's first voluntary efforts were the last sign Matthew needed
      to reassure him that they did indeed have a chance.  The challenge was
      enormous, the needed skills being gleaned like precious metal from the
      surrounding mass of experience.  Some lessons were painful, but the
      four individuals slowly became a working team.
      
         Their first celebration was the formalization of Matthew and
      Christina's living arrangement.  A fact since the first glimpse of the
      mountains, they announced their happiness with each other and
      celebrated with baked grain, broiled rabbit, and fresh water, their
      customary meal.
         Their second celebration followed Martin's fortunate killing of a
      deer: he was quickly becoming their best hunter.  Lois decided her
      options were limited and accepted Martin as her mate.
         The marriages began a time of intense work.  Winter was hovering and
      food would be scarce.  All four young people had faced starvation, all
      four wanted their larder filled.
      
         Matthew stood at the edge of the Aspen forest and looked out across
      the   prairie.  The sharp bite of the autumn wind pierced his rabbit
      fur cloak and chilled his darkly tanned skin.  He leaned on his staff
      and wiped his hand down his well muscled leg.  The few burrs clinging
      to the hairs on his leg tumbled to the ground, scattering the parent
      plant onto a wider range.  Nature's plan was working.
         Christina walked through the trees and wrapped her arm around
      Matthew's waist.
         "Seems like another lifetime ago, doesn't it?"
         "Yes.  We've covered a lot more than miles since we straggled up
      that hill.  Even Martin has changed.  He and Lois seem happy enough."
         "Maybe next year, after their baby comes they can make their try to
      reach the coast.  That would make him a lot happier."
         "That will make things tougher on you, if we stay.  Changed you
      mind?"
         "No.  I'm happier than I have ever been.  We'll stay.  I want our
      baby to be free, like we are.  Not a hermit in a cave, being led by a
      group of recluses.
         The two fur wrapped people turned and walked back toward their dome
      shaped hut.  The mound of her swollen belly was their promise to each
      other that there was a future.  Their dreams went beyond that single
      life.  They were no longer the carefree youths who had agreed to the
      demands of their government.  They were their own government now, and
      had decided that there was a better life.  Their pledge to each other
      would form the foundation of an entire race.  Living with nature, not
      trying to dominate and alter the world, was the promise.  It would last
      a long time.
      
         The scientists on the two coasts had been right.  Normal conception
      with normal men and women produces normal children.  They would
      probably not approve of the way the experiment was done.  But the
      experiment went forward.
         The hope that their plan would repopulate the continent would not be
      realized for many thousands of years.  But even that hope would be
      fulfilled, although the originators of the plan would be long dead and
      forgotten.  The civilization they belonged to would be gone as well.
      An unforeseen cold cycle, part of the earth's usual ups and downs,
      caused a minor ice age, dropping the Arctic ice line down the west
      coast, to the thin neck between the two halves of the continent.  The
      clones, robots and androids passed into extinction, leaving nothing but
      a small, tenuous experiment in biology.
      
         Thousands of years after the four young people began their struggle
      to survive, other young people from another continent embarked in
      wooden vessels and discovered the descendants of Matthew, Christina,
      Martin, and Lois.
         They named them Indians.