Genetic Diversity
Title: Genetic Diversity
Author: McJude
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Joan D'Arc meets up with Rev in a bar.
Author's Note: WARNING -- this story contains discussions of genetics and anthropology -- and a small taste of Wayism and trout. It is definitely not for children. Not a lot of sex, but it is slightly rude. If you only watched the sex-ed movies when you were in Biology class, you will be in the same shape as Harry -- while which it isn't all bad, is somewhat confused.
The main problem with this -- she wanted to say "god forsaken" and realized it would be a mistake -- drift was that there were few places where you could secure food other than in taverns and bars. She felt as if all eyes were staring at her when she trudged her obviously pregnant form into a tavern, and even more guilty when she would order an ale. She kept trying to reassure herself that the genes that could have been damaged by alcohol had been removed from the Nietzschean genome, regardless of what Tyr had cautioned. She wanted to protect his child, that was for sure, but the lure of the ale was too strong. She had convinced herself that her body, and that of the child she was carrying, craved the carbohydrates of the malted barley and hops, not the alcohol.
"I don't suppose you have any rabbit on the menu." She asked the bartender, a blue-green creature from a species she didn't recognize.
"No wabbit. Rwings and aiggs."
She dared not ask what species these came from. "I'll have the eggs, soft boiled."
"Skramled?"
"That's OK, I guess, make them runny."
A plate with a yellow mass containing multi-colored unidentifiable specks appeared in a few minutes. There was no need to add salt and pepper, what ever was there was in them, provided more than sufficient flavor. She was hungry, though, and ate them with some degree of relish. She hadn't noticed the extremely ugly creature who had joined her at the bar.
"I see you are going to have a child very soon. It is not often that you see a Nietzschean woman in your state, alone. Where is your pride?"
"Obviously, I have no pride." She realized what she had said. Perhaps it might be a true statement with ale on her breath and runny yellow eggs on her face. She wiped her hand across her mouth, and stared at the man, or was it an animal, standing before her.
"Hello, I'm Rev Bem. I have the feeling that I might know you from somewhere."
"Don't think so, never met -- you sure look like a Magog."
"I am."
"Then why are you here, why haven't the people in this bar, or on this drift tried to kill you?"
"They know me, they know I will not hurt them. I am a former crewmember of the Andromeda Ascendant. I am a Wayist. I was spiritual advisor to Captain Dylan Hunt. "
"Hot damn. I am a former, shall I say sorta, crew member of the Andromeda. You must know Tyr Anasazi, he's the father of this little critter here." She patted her stomach.
"Needy som'thin' to et, man?" The bartended asked Rev before he could reply.
"Nothing here I can eat."
'Maybe, 'cept for me.' She thought. "My name is Joan D'Arc out of Portia by Canute. I'm a Kodiak. Pleased to meet you Rev Bem."
"You certainly look like you need a friend right now, how long is it going to be."
"Not really sure, think I got about six more weeks or so. I'm not really sure."
"I thought Nietzschean women always knew."
"Usually. Let's say, I think this was an accident. Tyr and I weren't really ready, but I am sure glad to have this first little Kodiak pretty close to being done. I'm tired of these -- again she skipped the word 'god awful' -- food cravings."
"What do you crave? Perhaps I might be able to help?"
"Rabbit? Boar? Fish?"
"No help on the first two, but fish I can do, with ease. You'll have to cook it, because I have to eat it raw, but I'd gladly dine with you Ms. D' Arc and even catch up on what's been happening with my friends on the Andromeda."
She smiled. She did not need to tell him that she had not heard from Tyr or anyone else on the crew for over five months, or that the last time she had seen her baby's father he had told her that she could rot in a hell -- that both of them denied existed -- as far as he was concerned.
* * * * * *
He was staying in a small log house on the outskirts of the commercial area of the drift. A stream of fresh water, complete with jumping rainbow trout and large finned Dolly Vardins was just outside the back door. It had been a long time since Joan had seen such a beautiful place. She secretly wondered if there were rabbits living in the surrounding woods.
"This is lovely, so peaceful. I didn't know places like this existed on an industrial drift such as this."
"It's a Wayist retreat. Right now I am the only one here, but I never know if someone might drop in. There is only one private bedroom, but I will move to the communal loft on the second floor. Don't be too shocked if anyone of any species you know, or maybe one you've never seen before, drops in announced. We Waysts are like that."
"Why are you being so kind to me?"
"You're alone, pregnant and hungry. That is not a good combination in any world."
"You're telling me. I sure messed up big time."
"Tyr Anasazi does not strike me as the kind of man who would abandon his wife and child."
"I'm not his wife. We were just friends."
"Very good friends."
"Yes, that. . ."
"You don't have to apologize to me, Joan, I understand a man like Tyr. He sees a distinct purpose to his life, a wife might not fit well."
"But, really it was my fault. I shouldn't have gotten pregnant."
"But you did, and that will bring him great joy. I was with him when his son, Ares, was born."
"What did you say?"
"Children bring Nietzschean's great joy."
"No, about his son? Tell me about his son. What did you call him?"
"Tyr has a son be a sister of Charlimagne Bolivar. You know Jaguar pride. Again it wasn't a relationship thing, just basically an insemination to bring some diversity to the pride. Of course you can't get more diverse than Tyr Anasazi in the blonde blue-eyed Jaguar pride. He had a child who is probably about two years old now. He asked her to name him Ares, after the Greek god of war. You know Tyr was named after the Norse war god."
"No, I didn't know that. I always thought Tyr was short for something. Tyrone maybe. Why would a Nietzschean who had had to go through life suffering the indignity of being named after a non-existent god, choose to name his own child after another one?"
"I am a philosopher and a psychologist, Joan, but the explanation of this is not for me. It is a question to be asked of Tyr Anasazi, for as you know Nietzschean names come from the heart. The same way Portia and Canute admired the ancient French Saint, Tyr Anasazi must have had feelings for the Greek god of war. Children are precious to him. Has he suggested a name for this child?"
"Not yet, but then we haven't had much communication." At least she felt some comfort in the fact that her child would not be named Ares, it was too close to Harry.
Joan searched for and found cooking oil and corn meal in the cupboard of the retreat. Fresh fried rainbow trout could take one's mind away from a dangerously puzzling name game for quiet a while. Rev Bem found a bottle of a fine old dry sherry, which he convinced her would not hurt her baby and would make her feel much, much better. She wasn't sure if was the wine, the fish or the company, but she felt better than she had in a long, long time.
* * * * * * *
Evan had been watching the Nietzschean words appear on the computer screen for hours. He much preferred printed books, the feel of paper beneath his hands, but the project he had been assigned required him to read a number of Nietzschean chronicles existing only in electronic form. He knew that the fact that they generated with the speed of light did not make them any less important. He wondered why he, a specialist in ancient paper documents, had been given this assignment. He was barely familiar with the language and afraid that he was missing nuances in verbs and adjectives. Since innuendo was basic method of Nietzschean communication advanced language skills were even more important to the discernment of the true meanings.
"You're going to go blind doing that?" Harry taunted.
"I could say the same thing to you, but if you haven't yet . . ." Evan replied. Harry gave the librarian one of his puppy-dog looks, removed his hand from inside his pants and dropped it hand to his side.
"What is so damn fascinating? You've been reading all day and most of the night for almost two weeks, no wonder I have to resort to . . . When can we take a break and go somewhere where I can get laid."
"Good to see that you are functioning again, Harry. I had my doubts."
"Never doubt the god of war."
Evan laughed. It certainly was good to see Harry back to a resemblance of his old form. If only this project hadn't been ranked as highest priority a few days away from Libra X would have been most welcome, as long as it was also far away from the Andromeda Ascendant, Seolfor V and leather bars. He was actually surprised that Harry had not set off on his own travels either in space or time.
"I'm working on a project that was sent down to me by a librarian named Malcolm. A study of the Nietzschean subspecies both physically and philosophically. It's way out of my area and way out of my league. I don't know why I was chosen to do this, and fear that I am not the best man to be doing it."
"Iolaus, you are always the best man to be doing something. There is no one better than YOU! You should have learned that a long, long time ago."
"Please, call me Evan, Harry. Why do I have to keep reminding you? But thanks for the confidence."
"Honestly, I feel less than honest calling you by that made up name."
"You the man of hundreds of cheesy aliases. I've had one for the last thousand years, maybe closer to two thousand now. Evan was the son of this lady I really liked; she didn't know it though. She was married and for once in long, long life, I let it stop me." He waited while Harry let out the expected gasp. " Hopewell was the name of an ancient Indian tribe in Ohio."
"Sort of like Anasazi."
"Both were native-American tribes but they were not related at all culturally. The Hopewells were the mound builders, lived in Ohio about the same time I lived in Greece. They were experts at the movements of the sun and moon. Ever been to Serpent Mound?"
Harry hid his face. First, he remembered fucking a slender Asian youth in a campground near there. Why did he always remember the sex first? Then he remembered the raised earthen mound, largest of its kind, a figure of a snake eating an egg. So Iolaus wore the name Hopewell probably the same way he had worn the Ouroboros amulet around his neck. It was definitely the same symbolism. Harry returned in his mind to that lovely Ohio fall day, many, many years ago. He could return to any time in the past on the Planet Earth, and often thought that his life would be better if he just did. Yet he felt something he couldn't place or name was keeping him here at the edge of the universe as an unworshiped god.
* * * * * *
"Oh my god, Harry, look at this!"
"What is it?"
"It's an article about early Nietzschean genetic engineering."
"You mean a tribute to those wonderful people who gave us bone spurs and toxic sperm."
"The very same. As I said when I was assigned to this project, I am not at all an expert on genetics, but it seems that Paul Musevini when he created his son Drago designed him so that all his genes were recessive."
"That makes no sense. Didn't he want those genes to be passed on, to contribute to the future prides. It seems very un-Nietzschean."
"What it said was that a Xx hybrid is much stronger than an XX. There is less change of hidden damage to the chromosomes. Drago Musevini had 1000 children from over 350 wives."
"Wow, that guy might have been randier than you, Evan," Harry laughed. Evan liked it when Harry laughed. Those laughs were just beginning to approach their pre-show frequency.
"Or more whipped than you." As soon as he said it, Evan realized he has misspoken, "sorry, friend, but he certainly must not have had much of a golf game."
"Thus these genes were spread all over the Nietzschean community. The only problem is that if you remember your biology, there is a chance, be it small that the recessives might line up in one person. So the genetic mastermind threw in a few toxic genes that in xx form would be cause the fetus to abort, thus the Nietzschean love of genetic counseling. Of course, when the genetic reincarnation of Drago Musevini is born, that gene combination will not be toxic."
"You lost me Evan. Biology wasn't much of a subject as it was a pastime when I was a lad," he sneered.
"Me too, but I know you liked to hang around colleges and date those Ph.D. nerds. You've told me about them a lot. Didn't you learn anything from them."
"Are you kidding? It was all I could do to get them to take me to class and watch the sex movies."
"You're hopeless. Try to follow me anyway? I had been wondering how he managed to design his son to have all recessive genes. I just read that it was a clone."
"Drago Musevini was fucking clone. You mean there was another one of him running around. Someone else who was unfortunate enough to be all recessive."
"Says here in the personal notes, that Paul scoured the universe looking for a pure recessively genomed person to clone and then I get mixed up with the dialect. Says something about a holy man, a shaman, an immortal, or maybe even a god. I wouldn't think much of it except for this scroll I bought from Joan D'Arc back a few months ago."
Evan walked to the files under the window and extracted a black box that contained the scroll.
"If you think reading this Nietzschean shit is complicated, look at this. I remember learning this script back when I was a little boy in Thebes. Didn't want to learn it then, but they kept telling me it was going to be important to me sometime. Who would have thought I would have had to wait a few thousand years?"
"I think I can read this." Harry grabbed the scroll from Evan's hand and quickly glanced down at it. "Maybe I can be useful for something." Harry smiled. It wasn't very often he could help Evan with anything remotely approaching the academic or intellectual.
"I think it might be about you, Harry."
"About me? Yes, Tyr. . ." It was the first time in months that that name had passed his lips. "Tyr had told me that that woman had a scroll that had something about me in it."
"The only character I recognized in the whole thing was your sign."
'This isn't ancient -- at least not from OUR time. There are too many mistakes, errors that the script picked up over the next two thousand years. My guess it comes from about the time old Paul and his son lived. I think the use of the ancient script was an attempt to conceal what is contained here. It talks about some of the choices of shall we say 'candidates' for the genome of Drago Museveni"
"Not you Ares?"
"Evan, be real. Look at me. Black hair, black eyes, tall, large frame; I'm what you call an large-X-man. I don't think Drago Musevini was a clone of Ares. Although he was kind enough to mention the fact that he had considered me, before he came up with the "recessive genes" idea." Evan's mind did some fast calculations. The god knew a lot more about genetics than he had let on. Evan wondered if he was keeping something to himself.
"Ares, would a person know if they had been cloned?"
"Not sure. You'd better research that."
* * * * * *
Joan D'Arc was unsure how much of her recent past she should discuss with Rev. Bem. Despite the negative thoughts she had about Tyr, he was still the father of her child. He was still a Nietzschean. She figured it might be safe to just ask about Harry.
"Do you know Tyr's friend, Harry Wagner? How long have they. . . known each other?"
The Magog folded his hands together on the table. I only met him once. He seems to be a pleasant, fun loving man. And definitely handsome. The women on the ship were very excited by his presence. Just exactly however he met or became involved with Tyr, I do not know. The divine definitely has a sense of humor when it comes to friends . . .
"And lovers." She finished the sentence for him, unsure that he would have told her what she wanted to know.
"I don't know about the lover's part, Ms. D'Arc, and if I did I would not be at liberty to discuss it with you. A person's heart, and the body parts it controls, is private. Not the subject of idle chit-chat."
"Well as you can see, I am quite well acquainted with those body parts, Rev. Bem. I just am trying to get some idea of their history before they became involved with mine."
"Those questions you will have ask Tyr. You will be blessed to have his child. Tyr will be a wonderful father regardless of the part you play in his life. The genes he passes on will be a blessing to your race."
She watched as the Magog fiddled with the knife and fork she had used to eat her dinner. It was not reassuring to know that the creature sitting at the table with you would have preferred the eating of your flesh over the raw fish he had consumed for dinner. Or maybe this was just another of the divine ironies of the universe that they had discussed earlier.
"You have had the tests. Do you know if it is a boy or a girl you are carrying?"
"Yes, I have had partial confirmation. It is a boy. I certainly hope that Tyr does not have some other god's name for my child."
"I wouldn't worry, my child. The name given to your child will be the one it needs and deserves to make his way through this universe. I cannot help but think it will be one of the most handsome of all creatures. While we Magog, certainly are not ones to judge purely on physical beauty, the combination of your genes has had to been most auspicious, your child will have a good start in life."
D'Arc placed her hand on her stomach and felt the baby kick. It was reassuring that the baby was strong and healthy. She had not told the Magog that the message informing her that the child was a boy also contained a request, which she had ignored, that she go for more testing as to the genetic status of the child.
She would wait until it was born, and hope for the best.
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