Leo Frankowski

chemistry and biology. All of
my engineered life forms are in a symbiotic relationship with your trees and,
thus, with us humans.”
    “All of them,
Heiny? What about Mona?”
    “My wife is as
human as you or I!” Copernick shouted.
    “You made her
with the microscalpel I gave you!” Guibedo shouted back. “You engineered
her DNA just like you did with this—this telephone thing, and don’t you deny it!”
    “I cloned Mona
after I modified the DNA of one of my own cells, Uncle Martin. That
modification doesn’t reduce her humanity. Come on, I’m modified and, to a
lesser extent, so are you. Are we so inhuman?”
    Guibedo thought, So
he trades sodomy for incest, but he didn’t say it.
    “Come on, Uncle
Martin. Let’s eat. We’ll both be in a better mood after dinner.”
     
    “Knife! CCU
here!”
    “Sir!”
    “Knife, take
six brigades and dig a tunnel, suitable for your species, from here to the heavy-metal
extraction grove, eighteen miles NNW of here. Complete it by next Tuesday
afternoon.”
    “Sir! This
route has never been surveyed. We have no knowledge of rock and soil conditions.”
    “Take more
units as you need them. Report any difficulties to me.”
    “Sir!”
     
    “Liebchen, this
is the CCU. Would you please report?”
    A little humanoid
with the hindquarters of a goat pranced over to the I/O unit in her nursery.
    “I’m Liebchen.
May I help you?”
    “Liebchen, for
the next two weeks, the Labor and Defense Units are going to be extremely
active. Except for those things relating to the comfort of the humans, I want all of
Pinecroft’s systems turned down to the bare minimum and all of Pinecroft’s
energy diverted to food production for the LDUs. Could you do that for me,
please?”
    “It pleases me
to serve you, my lord.”
    “Not ‘lord,’
dear. Only Lord Guibedo and Lord Copernick deserve that title. And Liebchen,
would you see to it that Lord Guibedo takes a mild euphoric with his lunch? Nothing
heavy, just something that will make him listen to reason.”
    “Of course, sir.
I’d be happy to.”
     
    Heinrich turned to the
mounds on his workbench. “You guys keep at it, hear? I want to see the new
ganglia integrated sometime
in the next week.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    As they went up the
elevator, Heinrich said, “When you think about it, Uncle Martin, Mona is probably your grandniece. How does it feel to have your family
grow?”
    “I would have
wished that maybe it grew another way.”
    “Oh, it’s doing
that, too. Twins, according to the tests.”
    Guibedo raised a
huge white eyebrow.
    “Don’t worry,
Uncle Martin. Mona and I don’t have a recessive gene between us.”
     
    “CCU! Vintovka here!”
    “Yes, Vintovka.
Report.”
    “Sir! The hiking
troop is now one mile from the heavy-metal extraction grove and proceeding directly toward it.”
    “Vintovka, launch another observation
bird, an eagle this time, with orders to
attack the scout most separated from
the troop. Injure him sufficiently to require immediate medical attention, but do not kill him.”
    “Sir!”
     
    Lunch consisted of
roladen and sauerbraten for Guibedo and kielbasa, pirogi, and chanina for Mona
and Heinrich, with black beer
all around. All of which was synthesized in
the kitchen cupboards by the tree house.
     
    Bobby Jackson had
grown up in the downtown Los Angeles Boy’s Home. This was his first extended trip into the country, and
he was dead tired after roughing it in the desert hills for three days. Despite
the friendly jeers of his companions, he had straggled two hundred yards behind the rest
of his troop. To keep the others in sight, he scrambled to the top of a large
rock alongside the path.
    Above and behind him,
an eagle calculated a trajectory, folded its seven-foot wings, and power-dived from six thousand feet. As
the scoutmaster, a Big Brother donating his time to the home, turned to make
sure no one had left the
trail, he saw the divebombing bird. “Look
out, Bobby! Behind you!”
    Bobby turned to see
the huge bird coming at him at 150 miles per hour. It was the last thing that
his eyes would
ever see.
    The eagle struck
Bobby square in the face. Without stopping, it efficiently plucked out both of
his eyes and flew on.
    Mission accomplished.
     
    “Heiny,”
Guibedo said with brown beer foam on his white mustache, “that was one of the
best meals I ever ate. I
wonder why Pinecroft, your tree house here, is such a better cook than my Bayon. I used the same gene