Planets Falling (7 page)

Chapter 15 - Revelation

"What we have here is a genuine event," Gorian Mestrian exclaimed as she planted her feet on the table, her fuzzy wool socks in plain view.

Footwear was pretty much optional on the station.  Given the lack of an outside to track indoors, most of the staff lumbered around without shoes or with feet adorned by slippers.  In fact, dress code was pretty lax.  It wasn't unusual to spend the day in a pair of flannel pajamas and a lab coat.  The only time attire was important was when the staff scientists and technicians were mucking about on an experimental deck or near the reactors.

Cross contamination would be a cause for instant dismissal. Whole experiments could be ruined.  Worse, because the reactors worked on a combination of nuclear and biochemical reactions, a stray strain of microbial life could jeopardize the Platform's very existence by plunging the power station into the engineering version of a very bad cold or more omniously, an incurable cancer.

"Ok folks.  Pay attention. Here's what we have to date," Grey announced, pointing at the image forming
holographically at the center of the table.  "About 20 hours ago, three probes around experimental planet C9 began transmitting some really funky patterns.  We may have had more time to gather information, but Verat here decided to clock out.”  He glared at the dark, slouching figure in the corner.  “Ten hours ago, the patterns stopped and all has been quiet."

Verat interrupted, crinkling his nose.  "Gorian, when was the last time you changed your socks?"

Gorian put her feet down with a frown.  "My feet smell rosy.  You might consider your own hygiene, my friend.  You reek of some kind of weed mixed with liquor.  What's in that cup of yours?  It looks like peat and smells awful."

"Want some?"  Verat growled.  "May bring you down back to us commoners."

Grey dropped his head.  "Verat and Gorian, chrissakes, we need to take these results seriously.  None of the simulations remotely predicted geothermal feedback."  He glanced up at the suspended holographic sphere hovering above the table.  The image was cloaked in dense, tan and white clouds.  Grey could not help thinking about the caramels he hoarded as a kid.  Buttery goodness in a planet.

As the faux planet spun lazily in front of the primary investigators of the C9 project, the clouds parted and amber tendrils of light appeared in little flashes scattered across the northern hemisphere of the globe.  If he squinted, Grey would have bet a week's pay that he saw the surface peeking out at him, green and slick.

But that was impossible.  Planet C9 or Nine as most of the principles called it was a typical cloud planet - atmosphere dominated by swirls of water vapor, humidity so great that a few moments on the rocky surface without an away suit would be akin to walking into a very oppressive sauna, with no escape.

Not that the time spent sweating would be lethal.  The air was now breathable after nearly four decades of pre-conditioning by the machinations of several of the principles' family members.  Their intent was to make the planet habitable for sentients, allowing them to live in peace, grow families, and build a history there.

Within a century- give or take a decade or two - their goals would be achieved.  By then, much of the water suspended in the atmosphere would be captured in plants and animals or condensed in lakes and streams.  The terraforming process was like wringing out a sponge.  The planet wouldn't quite be Eden, but it would be close. For now, though, the planet was an embryo gently swaying in its womb.  Embryos were pretty unsightly, but the babies were awfully cute.

"Well, whatever occurred is now over-for the moment," Gorian noted.  "This buys us some time to analyze the results and plan for additional recon.  I'm ready to cook up some toys for sampling on the surface."

Gorian was awash in her element in the station, always happiest when surrounded by fabricated things.  Transmission wires, fiber optics, plastic, rare metal panels, quantum computers, the hum of an engine deep below-decks.  These were peaceful reminders of the capacity of intelligent design.  Design that she understood deeply and nearly completely.

She loved wandering among the machinery, monitoring the energy budget of the station, and dreaming of ways to improve efficiency.  If there was one thing she really disliked about the Platform, it was some of her fellow crewmates- the ones that didn't seem vested in their job- especially that deplorable hack Verat Wilcoxin.  It was obvious that Verat considered her a challenge to be overcome.  After all, she was young, bright, athletic, and mildly attractive, in a willowy sort of way. Her adolescence was spent worrying about the length of her limbs relative to her body- arms and legs too long, gawky. Again, there was the latent engineer in her looking for the golden ratio. She was failing miserably as a physical specimen, and was certain this made her a pariah to her peers.

It occurred to her years later that she was indeed desirable to many boys - but perhaps it was the comfort she found in inanimate things that made her inaccessible.  Too much time tinkering with computer algorithms and designing molecular clocks, not enough time talking and taking interest in social play.  Aloof Gorian.  But fairly happy.  Machines never disappointed you - they could always be improved.

Perhaps the closest sentient to Gorian on station was her colleague, or perhaps friend, known by everyone as Iggy.  The origin of the moniker was long forgotten.  No one knew Iggy's real name, although rumor held that it was impossible to pronounce or comprehend for that matter.  The staff was even uncertain about what pronoun to use.  Iggy's species - nauron - was hermaphroditic, containing both sex organs.  So, to the crew, Iggy was sheit - a unique pronoun that Iggy did not seem to mind.  Iggy did not possess vocal cords and communicated via pseudotelepathy.  An implant in sheit's brain transmitted vocal signals via radiowave.  These were then translated into understandable English - most of the time. 

A crackle on the communications speaker from Iggy, "Verat and Grey, are you certain that the anomalous patterns were geothermal in origin?"  Sheit was eating a bar of chocolate and staring at Verat with his or her large grey eyes.  Thick lids slowly closed and opened over two broad, glistening orbs.  "Could climate be interacting with biologics in some way?"  Sheit took another bite if chocolate, the bar snapping in his/her mouth.

Grey shook his head.  "I don't think so Ig.  Storms are rare on Nine.  When storms do happen, they're localized and never generate much electrical buzz.  As you all know, Nine was selected because it's boring.  Lots of water in the air but not much thermal differences around the globe.  Nothing to make bad weather.  As for biological activity, there's been some
evidence on other planets that pockets of growth of plants can begin to kick up storms.  But nothing is advanced enough on the surface yet.  We're still in the primary developmental stage - just a bunch of goo and simple vascular plants sorting themselves out on the surface."

Verat sipped his tea, which was perking him up nicely.  "Thanks for the enlightened comments, Grey, my buddy.  So geothermal is what we're thinking. Of course, all of the geological surveys suggest that this hunk of rock hasn't as much as belched over the past ten thousand years.  So, that's a bit puzzling.  That's one of the reasons we didn't place many seismic detectors on the surface.  If there was an earthquake or some sort of outgassing from the subsurface or even a volcano, the nearest detectors were too far away to pick up the activity.  Basically, we blew it. Or more appropriately the surveyors who worked on this rock a hundred years ago were idiots.  I'm sure if Grey or Gorian were in charge this wouldn't be an issue."

"Verat, we don't need the historical commentary.  But thanks for the confidence in our current staff."  Grey glared.

"Fromer has been consulted, correct?" Iggy sounded as if sheit was talking through a muffler.

"Yup, my amphibious colleague." Verat replied.  "If it was bad guys, the sky net sensors in infraspace would've picked something up in that quadrant.  All that was bouncing around out there were a few stray asteroids, a routine maintenance mission, and one of our supply vessels.  Fromer is certain no one is mucking about the surface making campfires or whatnot."

Gorian was giddy.  "I'll start designing some seismic probes.  We can deploy them on the surface and let them disperse.  When they skim through the atmosphere, they'll route data back to a bunch of autonomous watchdogs in orbit, directing their movement if anything interesting kicks up.  I can design these things to go supersonic if need be.  They can respond in a flash.  I have this great new propulsion design-"

"Slow down there G," Grey interrupted.  "We'll need to consult the Council.  But it can't hurt to start some preliminary designs.  Keep me updated.

And with that, the meeting was over.  The crew filed out of the conference area with the exception of Grey who stood motionless, staring at the fuzzy brown ball.  Here he was, Science Commander Commons, at a strange place in his career.  The next steps were in his control. Nothing would happen until he could figure out whether he should tell the Families what happened or simply blame the event on a malfunction, letting things slide on calmly.

Chapter 16 – The Alien

Fromer was drinking again.  Alone.  Glowing slightly in his dark quarters.  His unique physiology made alcohol particularly fetching to his human side.  Just a thimble of a clear spirit like vodka would send his senses tingling. His zenatan side, however, did not appreciate the drink.  He suffered immensely when the euphoria waned.  Fromer was a hybrid and because of this he often escaped the conflicts of his dual heredity by letting his defenses slip away for a short break. Some distilled fermented potato starch from old earth did the trick.

When humans first encountered the zenat species in deep space, it was a strange, tense time.  The zenats were profoundly suspicious and not at all driven by the same wanderlust and curiosity that afflicted humanity.

However, the zenats were suffering from many of the same troubles plaguing the intelligent hominids from earth.  The zenat home planet was overcrowded, resources were declining, and quite frankly their world was wearing out- just like earth. They needed room to grow beyond their boundaries.  After decades of strained diplomacy, the two species agreed to create a small cadre of intermediaries, not of both worlds and of both worlds.  Hybrids would be created that had no preference or allegiance to either species.  These individuals would serve the diplomatic and security needs of both races, saving the zenats the discomfort of directly interacting with humans.

Fromer's first memory was a whirl of lab coats, bright light, and a strange whirring, which turned out to be his breath.  He was about four years old and being cared for by a zenatan nurse named Darce.  Darce looked somewhat similar to Fromer.  He had dark black eyes, with no whites.  When the nurse rolled up his sleeves, Fromer could see that Darce's skin was hard and tough, and when he held Darce's hand on walks outside, it was very cool to the touch.  While Darce's skin was deep green, Fromer
wondered why his skin was pale brown and slightly thinner.  Darce was completely hairless, while Fromer had a nub of brownish hair growing on the top of his head.  Darce was the kindest person Fromer ever met. When Fromer was five, he never saw Darce again.

At age six, Fromer was integrated with a group of other hybrid children.  These were his first friends and they were a ragged lot.  Well fed, surly, and exceptionally bright, the boys scuffled constantly, competed over the best desserts, and loved to play soccer during their short breaks from study.  The Quarters was the name of the compound that harbored them- home for the penultimate bastard children of the galaxy.  Throughout his life, Fromer never learned where in the galaxy this planet he called home during his short childhood was perched.  He was certain it was neither earth nor zenat.  The sky did not match those in the astronomy publications he scanned each night by the light of his viewing screen.  The planet had to be far from the galactic center because the stars in sky were distant and sparse.  Their surroundings were comfortable enough, but still sterile and cold, lacking the trappings of a culture to anchor them.  Looking back, Fromer recalled the many nights where he and his bunkmates would stay up late speculating about things most boys must dream about in the galaxy.

One quiet evening Fromer and his close friend Mup were whispering to each other between their beds. Insect-like creatures were whirring outside the window, doing what organisms on countless planets were designed to do except for them - attract mates and reproduce. The light of the triple moons flickered on the walls like ripples on a pond.  The pair of hybrid children could have been easily mistaken for two human boys staying up past lights out during a camping trip, except for their slighty luminescent skin, deep, black eyes, diminutive noses, and exceptionally long fingers.  A closer examination would reveal that no air was moving past their lips.  Rather, they respired through small holes in their abdomen.  Spiracles, Teacher called them.

Mup was the brightest of the boys.  He also was the smallest and received the brunt of much pokes and jabs from his peers.  His skin lacked hair and he glowed more brightly than the others.  The running joke among the boys was that the scientists dropped his test tube in the lab when they were making him.  He was what they were able to mop up – hence his name:  Mup the mop.  Sometimes Mup believed them.

"I think we are going to be special police", Mup speculated to Fromer in the twinkling starlight.  "I hear that the space pirates are getting really bad out there.  Maybe they will let us use weapons soon."

Fromer chuckled.  "I wish that was true.  I overheard the teachers talking about us becoming diplomats.  I looked it up.  Diplomats do not seem to do much of anything except spend their time talking and trying to get groups to agree on things."

"How boring.  Why do we have to do that?  I want to blow things up, fly ships, explore.  Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand", Fromer sighed, turning toward the wall and looking at his hands.  The future was defined for them.  Even at their tender age, Fromer felt his freedom tugging at him, telling him that so much more was possible than what the teachers were feeding them in the classroom.

The planet held some unexpected pleasures and surprises for the boys.  When they reached eleven, they were shuttled out to a new location far beyond the Quarters.  The school and housing compound in which they lived during the past few years was fashioned as a strange amalgam of earth and zenat structures.  A classic twentieth-century-style earth home, with shingles, wood siding, glass-paned windows, and even a stone fireplace would be nestled next to a classical zenat dwelling with rounded doors, metallic shutters, and vegetated roofs.  A trademark of zenat structures was a lack of corners, because corners were considered bad luck.  Thus, all zenat buildings were fashioned in sweeping curves.  The angularity of the human architecture and fluidity of the zenat buildings were sharp reminders of the differences in approach and philosophy of the two species - a chasm these boys were designed to span.

The transport vessel hummed softly as it hovered over the rocks and grasses- no need for roads when everything flew.  Teacher turned to the boys in the transport telling them that their new home was visible on the horizon.  They stood up and peered at the front view screen.

Looming ahead, a large hill - no, it was an artificial structure - rose abruptly from the flat, sparsely vegetated plain on which they were traveling.  The structure was built in the zenat style- a huge dome, awash in earth tones of brown, green, and grey, appearing as if it was an extension of the soil below it.  As the transport vehicle approached the building, a door rolled open and the boys found themselves in a new world.  Mup shifted excitedly in his seat.  Fromer could only look up.  The roof of the dome was so high it was barely visible.  The lighting was mostly natural, sun shining through huge translucent portholes in the sky.  More amazing was the lush greenery above.  The expanse between each porthole was completely carpeted by thick vegetation - vines, shrubs, even what looked like trees growing downward rather than up.  Within these vast suspended fields, Fromer could see birds and other winged organisms darting among the branches and leaves.  The walls of the dome were lined with various sizes and shapes of buildings, reminding Fromer of cells within an insane honeybee's hive.  Plants were everywhere that buildings were not.

When Fromer's neck grew tired of gawking at the roof, he soaked in the remainder of his surroundings.  The floor of the dome was a pr
omenade so large that one side was only hazily apparent from its opposite.  Transport vessels, humans, zenatans, a few slick naurons, small domesticated animals from both worlds, and surveying equipment were busily scurrying around the ground as far as he could see.  Scooters hovered in mid air, ferrying people among locations both on the surface as well as along the walls. 

"Alright children, it is time to move to your new lodging area."  Teacher, a mild, human female named Minna, motioned for them to proceed toward a squat group of buildings hunkered against the dome wall like a bizarre, misshapen clump of toy blocks. They settled in to their new surroundings, which were comfortable but very unfamiliar. 

Paintings with wild colors and no apparent objects adorned the walls.  The floors were carpeted in luxurious fabrics, sharply contrasting the cold polymer floors of the Quarters.  The light was different - warm, cheerful, and ripe with promise.

Later that day, after their evening meal, Minna herded the boys back into the dome's commons. The sun had set and the interior was glimmering.  Translucent light was shining down from the vegetation above. "It's time for you boys to expand your education.  Up to now, we've studied the politics and history of both of your worlds.  You know more about the naurons than they know of themselves.”  She smiled and paused.  “You've learned much about math and science.  I am so very proud of you.  But the galaxy that you'll enter not so long from now will have other challenges - physical ones.  Both worlds are relying on you to protect yourselves and defend our interests.  Today, we're going to start your physical training."  She grinned.  "You boys already excel in beating the tar out of each other, particularly the Mop.  I mean Mup.  It's time for some focus."

She led them to a circular building with a platform in its center.  Minna jumped onto the stage and picked up a large pole with a blade on the end.  Somehow, the quiet teacher seemed larger, more formidable.  She hopped down and handed the stick-knife to Mup.  All the coal-black eyes in the room widened. "Today, you'll begin a new set of lessons. This is a lancet.  It is not a toy but a lethal weapon for defense.  It is the first of many weapons that you'll learn to master and wield in honor of both your species."  She waved her hand across the base of the weapon.  The tip of the lancet began to glow lightly and emit an ominous hum.  Mup smiled, straightening his back.  He seemed larger too.

That was nearly 140 years ago.  Minna was nothing but bones and dust now.  Fromer’s friends – his family - were scattered across the galaxy or dead.  When Fromer turned 20, he was escorted onto a transport vessel, assigned to his first outpost assignment, and seldom saw his friends, especially Mup, again.  In the years to follow, he could only nod at his
childhood companions across a conference facility or through a pane of glass while transferring between transport vessels in a shuttle node.  Not a single photo or scrap of paper linked him to that other life.

Fromer was now sipping another small helping of vodka with a generous splash of tonic water in a place that could be a light year or the entire length of the galaxy away from his childhood home. He only harbored memories of that warm time.  And exceptional training in combat and detente.

Home.  He really had no place of origin.  Once he did not exist and then he did.  A miracle of biological engineering, merging the best physical and intellectual characteristics of two species with absolutely no evolutionary history.  They called him a hybrid but he really was a chimera, a thing.  Nothing more than a machine made of flesh, bones, gristle, and fluids.

The buzzer at his door pulled him out of the dark hole in which his mind was flipping and flopping in a haze of bubbling alcohol.

"Hey, Fromer, you in there?" Melat tapped on the threshold with the back of her data pad.  "Open up.  I need to talk to you."

When Fromer slid open his door, Melat rushed past him into his cabin.  "Drinking again? This isn't becoming a habit is it?  That insect in you can't handle it."

"Oh Mel.  I should not be left to my thoughts.  I need things to occupy my time.  Even dull discourse among governors' aides is better than this forsaken assignment.  After so many years, they ship me out here to hold watch over a big bakery?  I do not know what I did to deserve this." He took another sip from his cup.  "Just a year ago I was tracking down pirates stealing mineral shipments to zenat.  The next thing I know, I receive a transmission from the Collective telling me to report to the Platform to babysit a bunch of glorified greenhouses.  What a waste of my potential."

"Well, the level of self-pity seems to have reached an all time high."  Melat jumped on his soft bed.  "Sit down.  I have some news for you."  She gave his cabin a look.  Plants were everywhere.   Most were species she did not recognize; many were glowing lightly, similar to the luminescence of his sleek, exquisitely smooth, flawless skin.   He chose black for his wall panels - no personal belongings were visible.  On the bed was a single thin sheet with no pillow. The whole room was glowing with biological light.  The most amazing thing was the smell - a strange mixture of citrus and pine that she found irrestible.

"If it is about the activity on Nine, I already know about it.  Grey contacted me and asked for a security sweep of the quadrant.  I did not find anything out of the ordinary.  If you ask me, it is likely pockets of swamp gas igniting on the surface."

Melat took the cup from Fromer's hand and peeked inside.  She grimaced and set it down.  "That's old news.  The activity has started up again.  This time it's near the north magnetic pole.   I think we're going to investigate.  Sober up and come visit me when you get the chance.  You'll know where to find me."