| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1 |
To honor Ronan’s late wife, Gia offered to name the baby Yuma if it was a
girl, and Yumo for a boy. Ronan can’t stop looking at Yumo. This is his son.
It’s his real, flesh and blood son, which he made the traditional way. No
consciousness transference, no artificial gestation. He made love to Gia,
and nine months later, their son was born. How crazy is that? It used to be
so normal. People had no other way to propagate the species. How did anyone
survive that? Of course, Ronan realizes that many didn’t. Mayumi didn’t, at
least as far as the simulation is concerned, and it happened for the same
reasons it always does, because medical intervention was impossible.
Speaking of which, Yumo is pretty hot right now. He must have a fever. They
don’t have a thermometer to check, and he’s two weeks old now, so they’re
back on the farmstead, all alone. Ronan did read up on this. He knows a lot
about Norse history, because that’s the point. And fortunately, the dome
designers wanted to be historically accurate, so they seeded plenty of
willow bark there. After Ronan finds what they need, he stays by the baby’s
side while Vith turns it into a tea. He gives it to Gia, so the natural
aspirin will pass through her system, and end up in Yumo during
breastfeeding. Now it’s just a waiting game.
The next day, tiny Yumo is still alive, and his fever has gone down. It’s
working. The herbal medicine is actually working. Such a wild way to
administer a treatment. They would never do anything like that in the real
world, even if they knew that that’s how it used to be done. They both
breathe a sigh of relief. Everything’s going to be okay.
There’s a knock on the door. Vith answers it. They can hear him talking to
someone, and then the footsteps of more than one person. Ronan stands
defensively. Vith is a little more trusting than he ought to be for this
dangerous world.
A man walks in. “Ronan Truett. My name is Azad Petite. I’m responsible for
the security of this world. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“We can talk at the well. We need water anyway.” Ronan is more scared than
he has ever been in his life, and wants to get this anachronistic man away
from his family.
“Son,” Azad says to Vith. “Is there something fun that you and your brother
do?”
“We like to mix new pigments for paint from the local plants,” Vith answers.
“Good, good. And the girl. She should stay with the mother, keep her awake,”
Azad decides.
“What’s this about?”
“I’ll explain.”
Ronan and this Azad guy step out of the house, and out of earshot of
everyone else. “You know that we monitor what you do here, right? Using
smartdust.”
“I suspected that was how,” Ronan acknowledges. He doesn’t want to discuss
such things. “The prospectus didn’t list the particulars, but it said that
it tracks crimes which fall beyond the confines of the sim.”
Azad sighs. “Your youngest. He was just sick?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t monitor you all the time. We have a sophisticated series of layers
featuring progressive levels of intelligence—”
“Could we...not...talk about the real world, please?” Ronan requests.
“We have to. Yumo never consented to be in this sim. Neither did Isavet, so
we have been paying close attention to her behavior. Talus is different. He
consented.”
“How does this have anything to do with Talus?”
“After your baby was flagged as sick, we ran the sensors back, and traced
his history. This wasn’t a natural fever. He was infected. Pretty simple,
really. Talus rubs some shredded leaves and dirt over the baby’s navel.
Easily washed off later, after the infection has had time to set, clearing
all evidence, which he did, very deliberately. Mr. Truett, your son is an
attempted murderer. He must leave Nordome, and stand trial. You come too.
Depending on the outcome, you may be allowed to reenter later.”
