The tall young man faded back quickly, poised for an instant and then
threw a long high pass. The crowd came up roaring. Twenty yards from the
goal line a smaller, sturdier player swerved quickly around the end and
took the pass in his stride. With a beautiful curving run he tricked the
fullback, crossed the line and then, showing no sign of effort, trotted
back up the field and threw the ball to the umpire.
"Wonderful! What a magnificent runner that lad is! You're lucky to have
him, George." The speaker, a trimly built, athletic man in his middle
forties turned to his companion, talking loudly above the buzz of the
crowd.
George Turner nodded agreement. "We are. Every other University in the
States was after him. He's the first Boy America you know. We've been
watching him for years."
"The first Boy America?" John Harmon echoed in surprise. "I didn't know
that. You did say Boy America ... not All American?"
"He's both; All American in football and a Boy America too."
The gun signalled the end of the game and the two men rose from their
box seats to go out. Directly below them the players trotted quickly
towards the dressing rooms. Harmon leaned over to watch.
[Illustration]
"There he is now. A fine-looking boy too!" He studied the young man's
face intently. "Y'know he reminds me of somebody ... somebody I know
well, but I can't put my finger on it."
"I'm not surprised. He's Gloria Manson's boy."
Harmon frowned. "No, that's not it, George. Of course there's the
resemblance to his mother ... and who could forget the glorious Gloria
even after twenty years. But it was the way he moved, and that smile."
He shook his head. "It'll come to me yet."
They took the belt walk to the parking area and stepped off it at
George's car. Moving quietly on its air cushion, the car joined the
line-up out on the main road where George locked the controls on to
Route 63. The speed rose to eighty and steadied as the car settled into
its place in the traffic pattern. Relaxed in their seats the two men lit
their anticancers and puffed contentedly as they watched the scenery. It
would be another hour before George would need to touch the controls as
they neared home.
"So he looks like someone you know?" George asked. "I'd like to know who
it is just out of curiosity. As you are aware, no one but the Genetic
Panel knows whose sperm is used to impregnate the Mother America."
"I haven't got it yet, George, but I will. Were you the geneticist for
this boy?"
"Yes, I was. I told you he was Gloria Manson's. Don't you remember when
you met her?"
"Soaring satellites!" Harmon exclaimed. "How could I forget? You
introduced me to her."
"Twenty years ago," Turner mused. "What a crazy week that was. I guess
you were glad to get back to the Space Force."
"In a way," Harmon agreed. "I've often wondered where you were since
then. I never dreamed you'd be Dean of the Genetics Faculty when I came
to the Space Engineering School."
"I hope you'll like it here," George said. "They couldn't have picked a
better Director."
* * * * *
The senator from Alaska had the floor. He had had it for several hours
now and the chamber was almost empty as he droned on.
"And so, gentlemen, I feel that the greatest state in the union, the
only state that can afford to increase its population because there is
still some unoccupied space, the only state where anti-conception
vaccination is not compulsory until after four children instead of two,
the state where ordinary people will have room to get out and exercise
instead of being spectators, this state of Alaska, I say, is the only
state that should be considered when we select a fine, virile American
male as the father of America's Child of the Year. I would dare to go
farther and say we should also provide the female, Mother America of
1995, except that our President, my fellow Alaskan, has generously
decided that no one state can have both mother and father. Alaska is a
man's country. It should provide the man ..."
Wearily George Turner got up and turned off the colorvision. The
political pressures were increasing rapidly; that was obvious. What had
started as a national search for the most suitable future parents in
America would soon be a free-for-all. He would have to give the
committee his choice, and quickly! Back to his work he went; calculating
possibilities, eliminating entrants one by one. The National Genetics
Laboratory had been given the task of screening the finalists from each
state and Turner, much against his will, had been selected by the
Director to do the work.
"George," he'd said one fateful morning, "I have a job for you."
"What's that, sir?"
"You've seen the report of this new contest being run by Dee Lish Baby
Foods, haven't you?"
"Can't say I have, sir. I've been working on that new sex gene. Haven't
had time to read the papers."
"Oh? Well it all started on their colorvision program, the one where
they select the All American babies. You've seen it haven't you?"
* * * * *
Turner shook his head.
"Sputtering sputniks! I know you're all wrapped up in your work but it
doesn't have to be a shroud. You'd better get out into the world a
little." The Director laid a friendly arm on George's shoulder. "This
job will be just the thing."
"What job?"
"Why, the contest! Dee Lish separate the babies into three groups.
There's the natural All American baby selected from families in the
two-baby group; then there's a prize for best baby in the unlimited
family section. Naturally, since those parents are in the genetically
superior group, it wouldn't be fair to pit them against the two-baby
families. Then there's a class for babies of artificially impregnated
mothers, both married and single. It's a very popular program. The
prizes are wonderful and the winners in the limited family class are
allowed to have more children than their quota, all expenses paid of
course."
"I can see why it's popular all right," George said, "but where do I
come in?"
* * * * *
"Three months ago the Dee Lish scenario writers had a brainstorm. They
reasoned that if they began a new contest to pick the most suitable
mother in America and then had her impregnated, artificially of course,
by the most suitable donor, they would stir up all sorts of excitement
for the next nine months and produce a baby that should be a
worldbeater. The mother would be given a tremendous annuity, for life,
and the babe assured of all expenses right through college."
"It all sounds faintly nauseating to me."
"George, you're impossible. A geneticist who still believes in
fortuitous breeding!"
"I'm not so darn sure we can pick 'em better any other way. We certainly
haven't got all the answers."
"I agree, George, I agree," the Director's smile was still friendly, if
a little strained. "This is a National Laboratory, however, and the
President rang me up the other day and asked that we do the final
screening."
"The President? But this is a commercial gag!"
"Not any longer, my boy. You see the Russians recently came out with a
wonder drug, a sort of gene stimulator, that they claim produces highly
intelligent and well-proportioned children. The Chinese now claim that,
by using a controlled environment in their communes, they are producing
a super race. We had to do something! Our side is going to claim that
the union of a red-blooded American male and a modern capitalist female
will produce offspring far superior to anything else in the world, thus
demonstrating the supremacy of the American way of life."
"Dear God! Why pick me?"
"You're junior to all the others, for one thing. And besides, you'll
still be around to see Boy America grow up."
"Boy America?"
"Each year there will be a new contest; a boy the first year, a girl the
second and so on. You'll have to appear on colorvision of course. It
will be a nice change for you, and good for the Laboratory too! New York
is a grand town for a vacation."
* * * * *
"New York is a grand town for a vacation," George thought bitterly, as
he parried the reporters' persistent questions in the lobby of
Coloraudio System a week later.
"Say Doc, what about this super-female from Texas," one needler shouted
above the babble.
"So what about her?" George said gruffly.
"Senator Bragg says she should be the one selected for Mother America."
"Look, friend, Senator Bragg is a Texan and a politician. Naturally he
wants his state to have the honor. I'll pick the one I think best
qualified!"
"Yeah, Doc, we know. But what is this super-female gag anyway?"
"Some women have more female sex genes than others. She happens to have
the most ever reported to the Genetic Registry. Has the Senator seen
her?"
"He didn't say."
"He should take a look sometime. She's five feet five, one hundred and
sixty pounds and looks like a Texas longhorn, without the horns." He
brushed past the reporter. "You got any more bright ideas?"
A New York reporter pulled on his coat sleeve. Annoyed by their
persistence Turner shrugged free.
"Doctor Turner," the man said. "What do you think of this idea of using
the Man from Mars as the male donor?"
"You mean Captain Jack Harmon of the Space Force?"
"Yes. He's in town for the big parade right now."
"Look, we can't tell you who the donor will be. It's against the law,
remember?" Turner quoted the rule, "Under Section 48b, single females
may bear children if they wish, when authorized by law, but are not
allowed to pick the donor. He must remain anonymous. The local Genetics
Panel does the choosing. Besides, Harmon has been in space for months.
Who knows what changes there may be in his sex glands."
They reached the conference room and entered. The Dee Lish
representative looked at his watch and raised his hands.
"Gentlemen, no more questions please. We have a program on the air
tonight and Doctor Turner has to be prepared." When the room cleared he
turned to George. "Doctor, will you be ready to name the winner on
tonight's program?"
Turner shook his head. "You know I've interviewed all the finalists but
one, Miss Gloria Manson. Until I see her I can't decide. I haven't
talked to her at all but her press agent promised he would have her here
this afternoon."
"That's Gloria Manson the actress-dramatist?"
"Yes, the one who wrote _The Canals of Mars_ and takes the female lead."
"Roaring rockets! If she wins what a blastoff that will be."
"I don't understand."
"We have arranged with the Mayor of New York that the winner will ride
with Captain Jack Harmon tomorrow in the big parade celebrating his
return from Mars. And Miss Manson is the star in a hilarious hit about
space. What could be better?"
"To stop the whole damn foolishness altogether," said George gloomily
and ignored the hurt look on the press agent's face.
* * * * *
They were getting up to leave when the door burst open and slammed
against the wall. A tall, beautifully dressed and shaped brunette
brushed aside a little man who was trying to talk to her and strode into
the room. Her green eyes narrowed like a cat's after a bird.
"Which of you is the geneticist?" she demanded, and then to George, "You
... you must be ... you aren't dressed like a business man. Your suit is
five years out of style."