Page 62 - Tales Apocalyptic and Dystopian
P. 62

High Tex and the Orbies

        hundred  or  even  a  thousand.  They  brought  along  all  their
        psychological  baggage,  if  nothing  else.  So  there  are  factions,  social
        climbing, all the politics and jockeying for power that they treated as
        sport down here.  It slowly developed that one group, mainly from
        the Southern states, did not like the mixture of gases constituting the
        artificial  atmosphere.  They  were  opposed  by  ex-Northerners,  who
        used the issue as a rallying point. No real conflict can be permitted up
        there, so this controversy simmered along at a low level for quite a
        while. I saw where it could lead, and started preparing for it.”
          “How?”
          High  Tex  was  rummaging  through  his  desk,  placing  a  few  small
        objects in an old canvas bag.  “Process  of  elimination.  I  knew  they
        could not land anywhere near the only place the air might be close to
        its  original  condition,  the  Rockies.  And  obviously  they  had  no
        objective  technological  solution—no  computer  simulation,  no
        scientific  records,  no  bottled  samples—or  it  would  have  been
        resolved quickly. A third party was required, to eliminate bias. I saw
        that  they  would  need  to  bring  someone  up.  But  they  couldn’t,
        because they had no room to spare, and the attitude toward us on the
        ground is very hostile. All I could do was wait for their death rate to
        outpace their birthrate. That was inevitable: they are not really a very
        fertile bunch of people. My patience was rewarded. The order came
        down, and I was able to fill it.”
          Ottley shook his head.
          “High Tex, you are the greatest trader the world has ever known.
        Too bad your deeds will not be recognized. I would not have begun
        to  imagine  that  a  child  in  that  condition,  from  that  location,  even
        existed—much less that you could find him on short notice.”
          The Provisioner finished packing and motioned toward the door.
          “Let’s get started. At the risk  of tarnishing my  legend, I will tell
        you, my good friend and partner, that I did not have to find the boy.
        I  had  been  grooming  him  almost  from  birth,  keeping  him  in  the
        basement of this building, schooling him in the technical knowledge
        and social graces he would need to pass their tests and fit in with the
        Orbie way of life.”
          Ottley blinked.
          “Yes,”  said  High Tex,  as he walked  through the door with a firm
        but heavy step, “Daniel is my son.”

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