COMPANY OF ADVENTURERS
Branson's Mark

Bluebell put down outside the walled compound that was the largest settlement on The Mark.

The community’s shuttle was also parked there, but the only other sign of use was a locked quonset.

Tracks showed where the combines had been unloaded and driven down a gravelled road leading away from the compound.

Rand looked up at the sky. It was blue. The compound was surrounded by green and golden fields.

“Time for harvest,” remarked David, whose home world , Turtle Island, was a prosperous agricultural exporter. “Wheat and soy. Some canola coming along. And did you see the sunflower fields?”

Mamie had set up her old lawn chair and was watching the children racing the length of the shipyard and back.

Rand, Dita and Marco brought the portable clinic out the the field. Michael, supervising, instructed them to set up the floor so that the entrance faced away from the compound and from Bluebell, for patient privacy. The clinic walls were fabric, white with large red crosses on each panel. The folded back bamboo panels of the roof show the Flying Doctor logo.

David rolled the medical equipment out in locked cabinets. None contained drugs or medicines, those stayed in the ship’s infirmary. The crew was used to fetching those as needed as Michael or David prescribed. The compound gate opened and a horse drawn surrey emerged, follow on foot by several pregnant women and a few carrying babies.

An old man descended from the surrey, helped by the women. “Pater Jonah Caesar Branson,” said his driver.

Michael stepped forward. “Pater Branson, I’m Doctor Michael Chen, and this is our nurse-midwife David Chen. Thank you for inviting us to your… domain.”

The old man’s skin was thin and pale, his eyes red and sunken, but sharp.

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“I’m addressed as Doctor Branson by gentiles,” he barked, in a deep resonant voice.

“My apologies, Doctor. Perhaps we could consult about the problems you’ve been having?”

“My degrees are in agronomy and biology, not medicine. But my children have been in my care for several generations and we keep careful records.”

“Yes, I imagine with such a small community parentage is important.”

“My children have the finest genes in the system! I reject any hypothesis that any healthy person can injure their offspring by close breeding. The history of animal husbandry show quite the opposite.”

“All right,” said Michael, in the soft voice that meant he strongly disagreed. “Why don’t we take a look and see what concerns we have.”

The medics examined some fifteen babies, updating their vaccinations and drawing blood samples for some basic DNA analysis and other standard tests. Branson explained that he had been giving vaccinations personally to all his ‘children’. A few abnormalities were common, extra toes or fingers, a certain malformation of the ear. Most of the babies were alert and happy, but a few showed signs of Down’s Syndrome, hooded eyelids, flattened noses, and lack of muscle tone.

“The mothers are all pretty young, there shouldn’t be so many,” murmured David.

“The other anomalies are constant too. No matter what ‘Doctor’ Branson thinks, this is the result of inbreeding.”

“Not the Down’s though.”

“We’ll run the DNA tonight. Tomorrow you’ll have the older children for vaccinations, and Dita can assist me with the burn patients. We’ll need DNA matching for that too, but we have a good supply of NuSkin .”

While they spoke the shuttle pilot they had met on Summerfair, knocked at the clinic door.

“I… Can I see you, doctors? I know you’re just here for the babies.”

“We have a moment, what’s the problem?”

“I’m peeing blood. When I can pee at all. Pater says it’s just old age and should eat more beetroot.”

“Uh huh. Jump up here on the table and let me look at your privates.”

Michael carefully inspected the pilot for chancres or warts, thinking he might have picked up an STD if he strayed when off world. He also took urine and blood samples.

“We’ll run these tonight with the rest. Can you come by tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’m a trusty man. Five healthy children gives me some pride of place.”

‘Five! Congratulations”’ said Michael. “How old are they?”

“Twenty, eighteen, sixteen, twelve and ten. Four boys and one girl, the youngest. The two oldest should be off for wanderjahr soon.”

“So you had the vasectomy after the youngest? Ten years ago?”

“What’s a vasectomy?”

“There are small scars on your penis?”

“No, no , that’s manhood rites. All the men of the community gets circumcised when we reach manhood age.”

“Before marriage then…?”

“Around thirteen, fourteen. Pater performs the ritual.”

Michael was poker faced. “Would you be able to bring your sons with you tomorrow?”

“Maybe, maybe not. They have duties.”

Rand watched the medics as they passed DNA charts back and forth across the galley table, frowning.

“What’s got you down, lads?” he asked.

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“There’s a question of patient confidentiality,” said Michael stiffly.

“The real question is whether we tell our actual patients what we have learned, Michael,”

Rand raised an eyebrow. David rarely called his husband by his given name, calling him Doctor in the clinic and various endearments among the crew. It was a habit that annoyed Marco. Rand suspected that was why the men did it.

“We were brought here by the community.”

“By ‘doctor’ Branson?” the quotes audibly clanked into place.

“He’s paying the fees.”

“There ain’t no difference twixt patient and customer?” asked Mamie .

Michael paused. “You’re right, Mamie . We have to do the right thing.” He thought for a moment. “Did you notice a large number of abnormalities coming into the clinic?”

“A lotta people here have extra fingers, you mean?”

“That’s very obvious, but harmless as such. We can do some corrective surgery if the parents want. The oddity is that although these women have their children young, there are a lot of Down’s cases in the population.”

“Young mothers don’t have them babies, though?” asked Mamie .

“From time to time, young parents do. It’s very unusual. Mostly Down’s shows up with mothers over 40, even over 35. It’s a genetic error that appears as the ova and spermatozoa age and deteriorate.”

“Old fathers?”

“But the couples are young. Except….” David looked over at his husband. “Tell them about the circumcisions.”

“Our friend from Summerfair told us that all the men get circumcised by Bishop Branson at puberty.”

Marco and Rand winced and crossed their legs.

“But his version looks a lot like a vasectomy from the scars we saw. Which means he, and possibly every man on Branson’s Mark is sterile.”

“But the women seem to have lots of kiddies,” puzzled Mamie .

“They told us they get an annual examination by the Bishop. He did degrees in agronomy and biology and seems to think animal husbandry is equivalent to a medical degree.”

“And we know,” added David, “That the community buys in animal sperm for their herds.”

“You’re thinking the Bishop bought in some human seed and got a bad batch?” asked Rand.

“I’m thinking the Bishop is the father of very child born on this world in the past forty years, if not more.”

“But the women would be his daughters? That’s …. isn’t that dangerous?”

“Daughters and grand-daughters. After forty years we could be seeing great-grands too. But if the genetics are mostly healthy here shouldn’t be much trouble yet.”

“The kids would be idiots!” said Marco.

“No. Not unless there was a hidden gene for low intelligence. Most of the inbred populations studies on Old Earth started in the lower percentiles. The genetic damage we’re seeing is polydactylism.”

The crew looked blank.

“Extra fingers and toes,” David said helpfully

“But you said there was a lot of idiots bein born.”

“The Downs children are usually of very low intelligence, true. They also have poor hearts and circulation and low muscle tone. But that doesn’t come from inbreeding. Most people don’t realize that have an elderly father is also a cause of Down’s Syndrome and of autism.”

“Why?”

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“Same reason older mother birth those babies. The sperm is not as healthy.” said Michael.“And what it comes down to is: Bishop Branson has been using his annual examinations to impregnate his daughters and their daughters, and has sterilized all his sons and their sons. Who are actually his sons and grandsons. So. Who should be told?”

“We could tell the old man we know what he’s been doing. The dirty old bastard,” growled Marco.

“He doesn’t believe he is doing any harm. He talks about ‘the best bloodlines’. Now we know he meant his own.”

“Yeah, but fuckin his own daughters,” protested Marco.

“I suspect he’s using artificial insemination. Sexual assault, and certainly no consent, but no, ummm…. personal penetration.”

“Ick,” said Mamie .

“The authorities…” began David.

“What authorities”’ asked Rand. “This is Branson’s Mark. Branson is the sole owner. And his family practically worship him.”

“Surprised no one noticed before,” said Dita.

“I looked in the Flying Doctor records,” said David. “We don’t come here often and while the polydactylism is noted, it’s not considered a problem. These things do turn up in small communities and there is a surgical fix if wanted.

“The Downs children are all very young , maybe five, six standard years at most. After the last scheduled clinic visit.”

Michael nodded,’And really the only reason we suspected the truth was seeing the ‘circumcision’ scars.”

As the line of children arriving for their vaxx updates slowed, the community pilot arrived with his wife and their youngest son, aged twelve.

Michael took the boy into a curtained room for his shot and with his mother’s permission gave him a pelvic exam with the excuse that his father’s problem might have been passed down.

He called the parents aside. “First there is no problem with your son. He’s fine young man. He hasn’t been through your puberty rituals yet , I notice?”

“Circumcision? Pretty soon. His Holiness plans for next month.”

“I would advise that you ask for your son to be excused. I’ll give you a note, if you like.”

“You said he was fine!”

“I have reason to believe that undergoing the operation will affect his future fertility.”

“Kids? Hell, doc, I got ’cized and got five kids. All the baptized men here got ’cized and we all got families.”

“No, you don’t,” Michael said bluntly. “Your wives have children You have been sterilized by vasectomy. The operation at puberty is not circumcision. All the ‘baptized ’ men are the same. Every one, I suspect.”

The pilot turned to his wife, red faced. She shook her head. “No.”

“You’re lying! Charlotte, you….”

“Never anyone but you, Georgie. Never.”

Michael was glad there was a table between the couple and himself.

“Who does the medical work here when the Flying Doctors don’t come?”

“There are some midwives and some paramedical training. We can fly really sick or injured to Summerfair. But mostly, the Holy Father. He’s a doctor,you know.”

“He holds a doctorate. But his degrees are in biology and agronomy. He’s not a medical doctor.

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Not even a veterinarian. I’m sure he can handle most problems that arise, and you have access to the coreweb.”

“Not on-world. Only the Bishop is connected.”

“Ah.”

David entered, pulling out his hair tie and allowing his waistlong black hair to swing free. He smiled at the tense couple.

Michael smiled gratefully as his husband took up a position behind George, who was holding himself rigid against shock? disbelief? fury? All, Michael thought.

“Do either of you have a family relationship to the Bishop?”

George laughed bitterly.

Charlotte said, “He was my great-grandmother’s husband. So he is my great -grandfather. He married again when she died. He has twenty-seven children. It’s always been a small mark of pride to be descended from Pater.’

“We believe that all your children are the result of artificial insemination, done during your annual examination.”

Charlotte looked blank.

“It is possible that Bishop Branson has been buying human semen from off-world. But it seems more likely he has been keeping the bloodlines here pure by using his own.”

Charlotte looked up. “How long? How… are my kids, his kids? Am I ? My mum?”

“Am I?” asked George.

“We’d be brother and sister,” said Charlotte in a small voice. “Oh dear lord above.”

“None of this mess is either your fault or your responsibility. And, for what little comfort it may be, until recently the only problem seems to be the polydactylia.”

“The extra fingers,” David said, seeing their confusion.

“But there’s all these idiots being born,” said George.

“Not genetic, well, the cause is a genetic defect, but it’s not passed down. Basically, because the father is old, he’s not making good… babies.”

“And now?”

“Now,” sighed Michael. “I have no suggestions. I can only give you the truth about our situation.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna believe us.”

“Not even a trusty man?”

“That just means I can go off world and mingle with gentiles. Some look up to me for that, some are jealous. Some are suspicious.”

David said, “We could arrange for the Flying Doctors to make more visits. Take over the annual examinations. There would be no more babies. But no more children with Downs either.

“I think we could keep this situation private. Doctors do have a strong code about patient confidentiality,” Michael thought of the discussions the night before with the Bluebell crew. “We could also try reversing the vasectomies, but almost everyone here has the same father. That might not be a good idea.”

“But manhood rites… the boys look forward to that, to taking a man’s place in the community.”

Michael threw up his hands. “I have no idea how to change that.”

When George and Charlotte left, Michael put his head down on the desk and wept.

“You had to do the right thing, daddy,” David said. “Without the truth, everything is a lie.”

“Baby boy, those are some of the dumbest words I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

David chuckled. “You’re always right, honey.”

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Michael raised a tear-stained face. “I’m not sure at all whether telling them was right. The old man is old, he can’t live forever.

’But where does that leave his survivors?”