The Game of Life

Game Show

Author's note: I've revised this chapter (and will the following, as well) in response to the many wonderful comments I've received. The initial blurb has been removed, because, honestly, I was never satisfied and someone finally mentioned it as a flaw, so out it goes. Changes are mostly slight -- spellings, some structure changes, a few additions in the section about the contestants. Hopefully new readers enjoy, and old readers approve.

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     “The world is turning and the oceans are churning and the future is burning with the hopes of a new planet! A new beginning! I am your host for this English language translation of The Game of Life, Caplan C. Jasko!”

     The opening screen flashed with nonsense numbers scrolling against a black background, and faded into the image of a sphere floating in space -- the hints of green algae beginning creep across its iron red surface. The world’s name, Gliese 667Cc, was replaced on the screen by its new name, “Avalon,” along with various statistics measuring density, gravity, and current terraforming level, which was at Phase 2, with an oxygen saturation of 0.6 percent.

     “Tonight, we bear witness to more of the best our species has to offer! An olympic champion, a woman with bones so dense they can withstand a jackhammer! But not to be missed is the first confirmed discovery of a tapetum lucidum in a human being! If you’re like me and have no idea what that is, it means she can see in the dark, ladies and gentleman! Or, at least, her children will.”

     This was drivel. The woman -- named Daryna, from a small village in the Ukraine -- had the beginnings of a thin reflective membrane at the back of her eyes.  It was a minute change that made it almost imperceptibly easier for her to see colors and shapes in low light, but for scientists attempting to create the first selective breeding program in human history, she was the first step in a very long process that would eventually lead to a new breed of humanity that could live in total darkness without technological enhancements. They hoped.

     “Now, to meet today’s contestants!”

     This was a game show, first and foremost. In order to continue the Human Seed Project, it was of the utmost importance that the public remained involved and entertained, so the most intelligent and beautiful people in the world, as selected by their own villages and countries, competed to be coupled with the genes of otherwise superior human specimens chosen by the scientists monitoring the project. The ultimate privilege was to be selected to have their genes be the foundation of the population of a new planet -- Avalon. “You will die long before they are planted, but the seeds of today will blossom into the future of humanity.” Or so the tagline went. Maxwell found it immensely distasteful, but he wasn’t sure if that was because it was his future they were orchestrating or because the entire premise was sick and delusional.

     The game continued for an hour, with the contestants proving their intelligence and physical prowess through the answering of questions, ridiculous obstacle courses, and, for the pleasure of certain countries, the showing of skin. Once it was over, three men and two women remained of the original fifty participants from around the globe. One was a special interplanetary contestant sent by the International Moon Base, which was a rare sight -- most of them were unaccustomed to Earth’s gravity and had joint and bone problems, as well as digestive issues and an underdeveloped sense of balance. This one, however, was clearly an audience favorite -- nimble, brilliant and funny, his likability seemed to transcend cultural boundaries. He failed to win, though, that privilege belonged to a statuesque Spaniard.

     “Javier, you’ve gained the most points, and as such, you have earned the right to push your genetics through each of our lovely female donors this evening!” The host rested a hand slightly above the man’s shoulder, which was the first instance proving that he was not actually present at the event. “The rest of you will be selected by our chosen seeds based on their own perceptions of your efforts this evening.”

     The numbers came up with plusses and minuses next to each face, and the Ukrainian with the special eyes chose the man from the Moon Base, as did the other woman, the one with the elephant bones. More extraordinary, though, was that Daryna added a special message which the host translated to mean “name him Maxwell.” That was the Moon Man’s name, and it was the only time anyone had requested the seeds be named in the history of the game, before or since. Many people gossiped that the woman had fallen in love over the hour-long program, but they never met again, and both died without natural children.

     Such was the life of a Seed. Knowing that your parents met for an hour in the scientific equivalent of a motel quickie two hundred years earlier on a planet that you would never see. On their sixth birthdays, once the truth had been spilled to them, the Seeds could choose to join a communal school and learn even more truth -- about the world and themselves -- or to live in seclusion and die frightened and alone. If they left their room the next morning, they had chosen to live with the truth. Most of them chose to die. Those were cloned again, raised in a slightly different manner, and then given the same choice. When Maxwell was eighteen, the process had slowed and the number of small children dwindled. The cloning bays were silent and the few human adults kept aboard the Seed Ship were busily preparing for the birth of the next generation of Seeds.

     “Max,” Ciph poked the side of his head as they sat on the observation deck. She chose the name herself, as SCT-3 was less than appealing to a little girl. They were in deep space, surrounded by a soup of galaxies; nothing and everything was available for the eyes to behold.

     “Sorry, just thinking,” He said with his mind still on the tape, the moon man, the short little woman with bright blonde hair and a shy upturned nose.

     “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She said in a husky whisper, “There are other Seeds if you want someone better. If it was you that asked, they’d say yes.”

     Max looked over at the girl that shared his cushion and saw past her, then focused and smiled at the corner of his mouth. “No,” He said, “we’re fine.”

     He had avoided the topic ever since they began to hit puberty. Arranged Couplings, they called them; forced combinations of genes to improve the distribution and potency of the genetic material that each of them possessed. Yes, the cloning chambers were laying in wait in case the individual Seeds were incompatible, but the preference was for them to live their lives as familial units with their offspring. They would mate first at twenty, then at twenty-two, and one final time at twenty-five. Further couplings would be allowed by individual review.

     Ciph was his ideal partner, chosen for her early stages of eye development and lack of dominant genes. There were other lesser candidates, of course, and her own genetic benefits -- extraordinary muscle endurance -- would likely be entirely absent in their children. But that skill was a dime a dozen and he was one of only two. He knew that their fate was sealed when they were nine -- Ciph asked the Captain if they could have seven children, because she wanted to be Snow White, and the next morning they both received written approval for four additional children over a twelve year period on the condition that the first two were free of genetic defects.

     “No,” He said again and rested his hand on her knee, “we’re fine.”

     Avalon was proceeding into Phase 4: The placement of macro organisms.