Jim Baen's Universe

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Science Fiction Stories

Tweak

Written by Jack McDevitt

Illustrated by Laura Givens

Civilizations, if they survive their nuclear age, seem always to follow the same path. “It is inevitable,” said the ship.

Sikkur adjusted the picture with one mandible while supporting his snout with the other. Kayla nodded. “It‘s good to know,” she said, “that everything has a happy ending.”

On-screen, thousands of the creatures labored on the Morgan Monument.

Kayla brought up the BBC, where one of the anchors was going on endlessly about Mr. Morgan, the prime minister, how his thirty-two years in office had been a period of endless prosperity. A guest commented on his popularity. “Never had a leader like this.”

“What are you thinking?” Sikkur asked.

“I liked it better when it was called Trafalgar Square. It had a better ring.”

“I agree,” Sikkur said. “But Trafalgar is probably dead.”

She glanced through the viewport at the clouds. They were moving out over the ocean again, headed west. “It is incredible,” she added.

“You do not mean the monument?”

“No. Not the monument.” She gazed at him with deep-set eyes, dark and intelligent, intended for use under a different sun. “I mean the consistency of it all.”

He switched to another feed. This one from a satellite over Canada. Men and women worked contentedly on the Gulf of St. Lawrence Canal Project. And then to demonstrations on the streets of Toronto. People marched around a government building, bearing signs, MILLWORKERS FOR MYERS and MYERS IS THE MAN.

Kayla's chair squeaked as she changed position. “Whether we look at places like Bakyubah on the far side of the Galaxy, or the civilizations of the Parah Cloud, or Greater Wahkni near the Hole, wherever we go, it is always the same: If they survive the atom, soon after they begin tweaking their genes.”

Below, in the western Atlantic, a few rain clouds drifted through the late afternoon.

Sikkur fished a snack out of the ready box. A red gufer. It squirmed as he popped it onto his tongue and sucked it down. “It must be an intriguing period for everyone,” he said, “when they arrive at the stage where they can control evolution.” He listened to Kayla's breathing. “Yes, I'd like to have been there when they first realized how to do some of these things. Increase intelligence by tweaking a gene. Grant musical genius. Provide a handsome brow.” He took a deep breath. “A godlike business.”

“Which gene was it, dear?” She combined a smile with a flick of her eyes. Whenever she did it, the bridge brightened.

“Which are you talking about, love?”

“The brow. The brow. I've always been impressed by a stately brow.”

He snorted. She did like to kid around. “As if I'd know,”