Young Rissa by F.M. Busby

looked at what Erika sent you.” She leafed through the papers; all was as she and Madame Hulzein had agreed. One-half the profits of Rissa’s investments, after commission, forwarded to — and later through — Osallin’s agency. Any net loss over a given period would be carried against future gains, but this initial profit voucher was over 1,000,000 Weltmarks. She calculated five percent and wrote a draft to Osallin’s credit before inspecting the other material.  
    She sensed that the man was looking at her and raised her head to return his gaze. He said, “Are Erika’s reports satisfactory?”  
    â€œOh, yes.” She paused, frowning. “Need I tell you that I trust Erika — and by her word, you also?”  
    Osallin exhaled a deep breath. “Hah!” Gently his closed fist thumped the desk. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, then — what comes next? Where do you go? Or do I need to know that?”  
    She nodded, swinging the dark curls. “Of course you do, if we are to work together. But where? I do not yet know.”  
    â€œYou don’t? I would have thought — ”  
    â€œWhere do the Escaped Ships go? The Hidden Worlds . . .”  
    Silently he looked at her, then said, “So that’s it. I should have known.”  
    â€œI do not understand you. Where else would I wish to go?”  
    His hand kneaded the stump at his right shoulder. “She’s been wanting a look-in there — I knew that, of course — and why not? And so here you are.”  
    â€œErika? She will not be alive , Osallin, when I get . . . there, wherever. Or at least, not when word from me could reach Earth. This is entirely my idea, not Erika’s.”  
    â€œThe Hulzeins aren’t too proud to use others’ ideas. And of all people, they’re specially equipped to take the long view.”  
    Rissa pondered his words. “What do you mean?”  
    His eyes narrowed. “Do you know who Erika is — and Frieda? Do you know about the others?”  
    â€œWhat others? What has anyone else to do with it?”  
    â€œErika’s mother, Renalle. And Heidele, her grandmother.”  
    She shook her head. “No. She said nothing of them. Why — ?”  
    â€œThe Hulzein Establishment,” he said. “Founded by Heidele, inherited by Renalle and then Erika, with Frieda next in line. And what has Frieda named her daughter?”  
    â€œI did not know she had one. Does she? And how can you know it would be a daughter?”  
    â€œShe’ll have one by now, if she can. And the Hulzeins have no sons  
    â€” parthenogenesis doesn’t work that way.” She gasped. “Of course. I know about Erika and Frieda, yes. But — how many?” His chuckle conveyed no humor. “Frieda’s daughter would be the  
    fifth of the line. That’s why I’m worried.”  
    â€œAgain, Osallin, I do not understand you.”  
    â€œThe copy-machine effect,” he said. “What happens when you make a copy of a copy of a copy? You lose the fine detail; that’s what. And when it’s genetic endowment you’re dealing with . . .”  
    He shrugged. “It wasn’t a problem with the one-parent children late in the previous century, the fad that sprang up among the extreme elements of Female Liberation. Those offspring were — haploid, I think the term is — and infertile.”  
    â€œI have heard of the movement, but very little about it.”  
    â€œIt died under UET, with all the rest of freedom.” He scratched his nose. “Anyway, I’m not sure whether it was Heidele herself or someone else who developed the gene-replication system of parthenogenesis, to produce fertile offspring. But I know the rest of the history pretty well.  
    â€œThe method never worked