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_When a country is as champion-conscious as America, it's surprising that no one has yet developed the ultimate contest. Dr. McClatchie, whose recent novel, "The Last Vial," established him as a top-ranking sf writer, now tells us the engaging story of the geneticists' search for ..._
_Mother America_
By SAM McCLATCHIE, M.D.
Illustrated by ADKINS
The tall young man faded back quickly, poised for an instant and thenthrew a long high pass. The crowd came up roaring. Twenty yards from thegoal line a smaller, sturdier player swerved quickly around the end andtook the pass in his stride. With a beautiful curving run he tricked thefullback, crossed the line and then, showing no sign of effort, trottedback up the field and threw the ball to the umpire.
"Wonderful! What a magnificent runner that lad is! You're lucky to havehim, George." The speaker, a trimly built, athletic man in his middleforties turned to his companion, talking loudly above the buzz of thecrowd.
George Turner nodded agreement. "We are. Every other University in theStates was after him. He's the first Boy America you know. We've beenwatching him for years."
"The first Boy America?" John Harmon echoed in surprise. "I didn't knowthat. 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 theirbox seats to go out. Directly below them the players trotted quicklytowards the dressing rooms. Harmon leaned over to watch.
"There he is now. A fine-looking boy too!" He studied the young man'sface intently. "Y'know he reminds me of somebody ... somebody I knowwell, 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 theresemblance to his mother ... and who could forget the glorious Gloriaeven 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 atGeorge's car. Moving quietly on its air cushion, the car joined theline-up out on the main road where George locked the controls on toRoute 63. The speed rose to eighty and steadied as the car settled intoits place in the traffic pattern. Relaxed in their seats the two men littheir anticancers and puffed contentedly as they watched the scenery. Itwould be another hour before George would need to touch the controls asthey neared home.
"So he looks like someone you know?" George asked. "I'd like to know whoit is just out of curiosity. As you are aware, no one but the GeneticPanel knows whose sperm is used to impregnate the Mother America."
"I haven't got it yet, George, but I will. Were you the geneticist forthis boy?"
"Yes, I was. I told you he was Gloria Manson's. Don't you remember whenyou met her?"
"Soaring satellites!" Harmon exclaimed. "How could I forget? Youintroduced me to her."
"Twenty years ago," Turner mused. "What a crazy week that was. I guessyou were glad to get back to the Space Force."
"In a way," Harmon agreed. "I've often wondered where you were sincethen. I never dreamed you'd be Dean of the Genetics Faculty when I cameto the Space Engineering School."
"I hope you'll like it here," George said. "They couldn't have picked abetter Director."
* * * * *
The senator from Alaska had the floor. He had had it for several hoursnow and the chamber was almost empty as he droned on.
"And so, gentlemen, I feel that the greatest state in the union, theonly state that can afford to increase its population because there isstill some unoccupied space, the only state where anti-conceptionvaccination is not compulsory until after four children instead of two,the state where ordinary people will have room to get out and exerciseinstead of being spectators, this state of Alaska, I say, is the onlystate that should be considered when we select a fine, virile Americanmale as the father of America's Child of the Year. I would dare to gofarther and say we should also provide the female, Mother America of1995, except that our President, my fellow Alaskan, has generouslydecided that no one state can have both mother and father. Alaska is aman's country. It should provide the man ..."
Wearily George Turner got up and turned off the colorvision. Thepolitical pressures were increasing rapidly; that was obvious. What hadstarted as a national search for the most suitable future parents inAmerica would soon be a free-for-all. He would have to give thecommittee his choice, and quickly! Back to his work he went; calculatingpossibilities, eliminating entrants one by one. The National GeneticsLaboratory had been given the task of screening the finalists from eachstate and Turner, much against his will, had been selected by theDirector 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 BabyFoods, haven't you?"
"Can't say I have, sir. I've been working on that new sex gene. Haven'thad time to read the papers."
"Oh? Well it all started on their colorvision program, the one wherethey 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 itdoesn't have to be a shroud. You'd better get out into the world alittle." The Director laid a friendly arm on George's shoulder. "Thisjob 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 thetwo-baby group; then there's a prize for best baby in the unlimitedfamily section. Naturally, since those parents are in the geneticallysuperior group, it wouldn't be fair to pit them against the two-babyfamilies. Then there's a class for babies of artificially impregnatedmothers, both married and single. It's a very popular program. Theprizes are wonderful and the winners in the limited family class areallowed to have more children than their quota, all expenses paid ofcourse."
"I can see why it's popular all right," George said, "but where do Icome in?"
* * * * *
"Three months ago the Dee Lish scenario writers had a brainstorm. Theyreasoned that if they began a new contest to pick the most suitablemother in America and then had her impregnated, artificially of course,by the most suitable donor, they would stir up all sorts of excitementfor the next nine months and produce a baby that should be aworldbeater. 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 infortuitous breeding!"
"I'm not so darn sure we can pick 'em better any other way. We certainlyhaven't got all the answers."
"I agree, George, I agree," the Director's smile was still friendly, ifa little strained. "This is a National Laboratory, however, and thePresident rang me up the other day and asked that we do the finalscreening."
"The President? But this is a commercial gag!"
"Not any longer, my boy. You see the Russians recently came out with awonder drug, a sort of gene stimulator, that they claim produces highlyintelligent and well-proportioned children. The Chinese now claim that,by using a controlled environment in their communes, they are producinga super race. We had to do something! Our side is going to claim thatthe union of a red-blooded American male and a modern capitalist femalewill produce offspring far superior to anything else in the w
orld, thusdemonstrating 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'llstill 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 thesecond and so on. You'll have to appear on colorvision of course. Itwill be a nice change for you, and good for the Laboratory too! New Yorkis a grand town for a vacation."
* * * * *
"New York is a grand town for a vacation," George thought bitterly, ashe parried the reporters' persistent questions in the lobby ofColoraudio System a week later.
"Say Doc, what about this super-female from Texas," one needler shoutedabove 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 hewants his state to have the honor. I'll pick the one I think bestqualified!"
"Yeah, Doc, we know. But what is this super-female gag anyway?"
"Some women have more female sex genes than others. She happens to havethe most ever reported to the Genetic Registry. Has the Senator seenher?"
"He didn't say."
"He should take a look sometime. She's five feet five, one hundred andsixty pounds and looks like a Texas longhorn, without the horns." Hebrushed past the reporter. "You got any more bright ideas?"
A New York reporter pulled on his coat sleeve. Annoyed by theirpersistence Turner shrugged free.
"Doctor Turner," the man said. "What do you think of this idea of usingthe 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 femalesmay bear children if they wish, when authorized by law, but are notallowed to pick the donor. He must remain anonymous. The local GeneticsPanel 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 Lishrepresentative looked at his watch and raised his hands.
"Gentlemen, no more questions please. We have a program on the airtonight and Doctor Turner has to be prepared." When the room cleared heturned to George. "Doctor, will you be ready to name the winner ontonight's program?"
Turner shook his head. "You know I've interviewed all the finalists butone, Miss Gloria Manson. Until I see her I can't decide. I haven'ttalked to her at all but her press agent promised he would have her herethis 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 ridewith Captain Jack Harmon tomorrow in the big parade celebrating hisreturn from Mars. And Miss Manson is the star in a hilarious hit aboutspace. What could be better?"
"To stop the whole damn foolishness altogether," said George gloomilyand ignored the hurt look on the press agent's face.
* * * * *
They were getting up to leave when the door burst open and slammedagainst the wall. A tall, beautifully dressed and shaped brunettebrushed aside a little man who was trying to talk to her and strode intothe 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 isfive years out of style."
Abashed, George looked at himself. "What's wrong with it?"
"You'd never understand and I haven't time to tell you. What I want toknow is, who gave you the right to use my name in this silly MotherAmerica contest. And you," she turned on the Dee Lish agent, "quitgawping at me. I'm not going to blast off. Who are you anyway?"
"Miss Manson, please!" The little man was in front of her again. "If thereporters hear about this ..."
"Oh shut up, Harry! All right, Doctor, what's your excuse?"
George rallied and attacked. "I haven't any, Miss Manson. I didn't askfor your name. It was submitted to me as a possibility from the DeeLish Company. You needn't worry, however. You are displaying adequatereasons for me to disqualify your entry right now."
"Oh, an advertising stunt, is it? Harry, this is your idea ... you andthat pap purveyor!"
"But Gloria, think of the publicity ... the big parade with the man fromMars! Why your play would run for years!"
"OK, I'll do it!" she said with a big smile and watched the ad-men'sgloomy faces change to astonished delight. "There's just one littlething ... if I win!" She prodded Harry in the chest with a long stifffinger.
"Yes, dear ... anything!"
"_YOU_ have the baby!" The scowl came back to her face. "You utteridiots ... you misfired missiles! How in the Universe do you think I canplay a romantic lead wearing a maternity dress?"
George chuckled with delight at the thought and she turned on him.
"What's so funny, Doctor? And what do you mean I'm disqualified from thecontest? What's wrong with me?"
"Not a thing, Miss Manson." He grinned happily at her. "But if you canstand having dinner with a man in an old-fashioned suit, I'll tell youwhy Mother America should be a contented cow instead of a tantalizingtigress."
"Hm, this is one orbit I haven't travelled." She smiled and nodded herapproval. "Set me a course, Navigator."
They moved towards the door together.
"Doctor! The program tonight ... have you forgotten?"
George looked back and waved airily. "Don't worry. I'll be there. Andwe'll name the winner too!"
* * * * *
"Well now, Gloria, the dessert!" George was saying. "What'll it be,crepes suzette?"
She smiled across the table. "Mm," she considered the menu carefully. "Ithink I'll stick to good old American apple pie and cheese."
"A genuine American small town girl, with small town likes and dislikes!That's what you are underneath the glamour. Aren't you?"
She laughed and raised her champagne glass. "And this is from thehome-town vineyard too?"
George leaned towards her, his face a little flushed with the wine."Gloria, with your ability as an actress we could play the biggestpractical joke in the history of colorvision. If only I dared!"
"What's your idea, George?"
"I'm sick of all this pseudo-scientific nonsense about genetics," hesaid, "and I'm even sicker of the crass commercialism and politicalpropaganda surrounding this Mother America business."
"George, you surprise me more and more! I thought you did this for themoney and publicity, to say nothing of the great honor."
"Stop kidding, Gloria! You know I was ordered to do it by theDepartment. All I get is an expense account from Dee Lish Baby Foods.The thing that really bothers me is the type of winner I have to pick."
"Have to pick? You have free choice, don't you?"
"Not really. The people who watch that program, from the President ondown, including our Director too, expect a sweet wholesome type ... youknow, curvy in the right places like a Miss America but wouldn't thinkof posing in a bathing suit. They want an adolescent dream girl type,the kind that goes well with a rose-covered cottage and fourrosy-cheeked kids all waiting for Daddy to come home."
"But most women work in America today."
"I know but the dream remains, along with the cowboy, the daring AirForce pilot, the self-made business tycoon and all the other romanticstereotypes of the first half of the century. She makes togethernessseem right, and God knows we have so many people today we're togetherwhether we like it or not.
So that's the type I have to pick."
"Where does the joke come in?"
"If you'd play the part of the American dream girl you'd win thatcontest going away, like a four stage rocket booster."
"But I don't want to have a baby by remote control."
"You wouldn't have to. You can always withdraw before the impregnationceremony."
"Suppose I do it, what's the point?"
"Well for one thing, you'd show how easily people are fooled byappearances and smart propaganda. As a geneticist I can only go so farand be honest. I can make sure you have good heredity; that you have noobvious physical or mental defects; that your chance of having certaindisabling diseases are small; that your intelligence is high, and so on.I can't really measure things such as initiative, wit, courage,determination, all the things that make one human so much better thananother of equal