Those people won’t last long on the surface.
A low beeping alarm began to pulse inside his helmet, and then he watched in terror, his heart racing, his pulse throbbing, as all the links of the mega-structure released, the force of the release spinning them in various directions. They fell into one another and crashed, spraying debris, splintering themselves into space. He watched it all as if in slow motion, as if the impacts were not moving at such great speeds. Some hurdled toward the atmosphere.
“Retract,” Mula ordered.
And the lifeline began pulling him back toward the pod. He wondered how many thousands would die and he wondered how she had done it. The harvest was set to begin in three hours, and after this there would be no harvest, no more of anything. He knew there would be only one way to live through this: make it back to the central structure, the only one large and strong enough to endure years of impacts from the orbital debris. He’d put himself in a preservation tank and hope for rescue. And rescue would eventually come. There was a regular influx of transports and supply ships, many heading this way. Someone would come.
Mula scrambled into his pod and directed it back to the central structure.
* * *
Flint helped Victor Mula into the shower room, where the gel from the preservation tanks washed away down the drains. Flint still could not believe he’d finally found him. So many days and weeks he had spent in turmoil over the futility of this pursuit, yet here they were. And although he had spent many years thinking of just exactly how he’d kill Mula, those ideas and plans seemed to have vanished from his mind, as he could not think of what to do now that he was confronted with the man.
Mula didn’t look a day older than when they had met on Pril. Back then, Flint had been the younger-looking man.
Mula emerged from the shower room, wrapped in towels, and made his way silently across the preservation hall to where there were clean clothes in a hamper above his tank. He dressed sluggishly, Flint observing the lack of motor skill that came with the noxious acclimation after such a sleep.
“Is it only you?” Mula finally said, not looking up from a small case he had opened. He removed vitamins and water and food supplements from the case. “Hungry?”
Flint shook his head.
“You look too old to be a raker.” Mula pushed some pills under his tongue.
“Not a raker anymore. A collector, maybe.”
“I knew a collector once as a boy.” Mula opened the water canister and took a long sip. “And many more as an adult. Rakers, though, mostly.”
“My collection is Earth exclusive.”
“Is that so?” Mula slipped the last bit of food into his mouth and chewed slowly. “That’s an Ancio tail sticking out from your skull. Would it surprise you if I told you I came up with the idea for that device?”
“Not much surprises me.”
“Surely you would know me, then.”
“Victor Mula.”
“That’s right. And you are?”
“Call me Flint.” He stared at Mula. Had he lost his nerve? Mula was acclimating, gaining his strength back. Every moment that passed was a missed opportunity to kill him.
“How long have I slept?” Mula muttered.
“A few weeks, maybe.”
“That’s it?”
He turned from Mula and gazed out the entryway into the dilapidated hall. “What happened here?”
“I’m not sure. Sabotage, I think. I’m not sure how many survived.”
“I can take you to Pril.” Flint blurted this out. Why was he offering the man safe passage? Kill him now. These thoughts spun in his head. He felt the pain of a migraine inching up his neck. His crew accumulated behind him and put their hands on his back. He couldn’t feel their hands, but he saw the fingers curling over his shoulders. Flint cringed, but tried not to acknowledge their presence in front of Mula.
Mula just stared at him. “You have room for another?”
“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
He told Mula what airlock he had docked at and Mula led the way back to the Lune.
* * *
The journey across the structure took many hours, and they stopped and rested often. The whole time, Flint was accompanied by his crew. They stared at Mula, seething in the Ancio’s projections, and this made Flint’s insides boil with rage, his will to kill Mula, to exact revenge, slowly building back up inside him.
But, almost intuitively, Flint thought, Mula distracted him from such reveries with explanations of what he had built here.
“It began as a feeling. A feeling that Earth was out there or a ghost, you know? A travesty in the ephemeral history of our species. No one knows how it was lost. No one knows much about it. Yet we have so much. The keys to the locks of time. Now I see I was not so much trying to resurrect it as a world, but resurrect its essence within me. To experience it firsthand; somehow it’s been missing from all of us, and I thought I could reconnect the human race to it. If we had a new Earth, we’d all feel connected again. A place that could be visited by the many.” Mula palmed his face and then rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“A center to the scattering?” Flint offered.
“Yes. A place that we would come to feel our ancient connection to a world and the power of life itself.” Mula paused and gazed out a window. His upper lip twitched. “Now it will be stuck in the Jurassic Period for who knows how long. Until maybe I come back and rebuild.” He gazed back at Flint. “Perhaps now we should go. Leave the rubble of my dream.”
They had been sitting in a hall near the entrance to the Lune’s airlock. Flint stood and led the way up the ramp toward the Lune. Like Flint’s collection, Mula had created a living one. And this idea enthralled Flint so much he forgot his rage momentarily, forgot his will for revenge, because Mula’s words reached a place they both shared—that of a longing for mythical Earth. Could he kill such a man?
* * *
Mula gathered with many other researchers in the observation lounge just outside the weightless arboretum. The arboretum was housed in the central structure of the cultivation sphere and boasted a transparent ceiling and floor, so that Eno’s surface could be seen through one end and starry night through the other. Ara Brown, a researcher studying the cognitive abilities of many of the Jurassic Period creatures, had found an interesting species during the last harvest.
They were cousins of the Allosaurus, but a quarter the size, with longer arms and agile legs. It was not a species cultivated by the project. Ara proposed that, somehow, in the last thousand or so years, this species had evolved naturally from the conditions set forth by the project and was a product of real evolution.
She named them Enosaurus.
Mula didn’t believe it. Someone had messed up or created a new species on purpose, perhaps to see how it would fare in the wild. But Ara was adamant, arguing that this was the most intelligent form of life ever discovered besides humans. Their brains were larger than human brains. They worked together in complex communities, Ara argued, and she brought these creatures on to the cultivator to study them.
She insisted on a demonstration, and Mula had almost not attended. He saw little point in stalling and pausing on this unnatural species, one there was no record of, and one that would soon be gone in a few weeks as the mega-structure descended to harvest Eno, wipe everything out; then they would start over with a new evolutionary period, resurrecting the Cretaceous. When they eventually cycled back to the Jurassic, they would know for sure this species was a fluke, an error by the engineers.
But Mula knew many thought him a recluse, which he was, and so he attended, if only to provide some semblance of authority to the other researchers and a guise of interest in their work.
Ara gave no speeches before the demonstration. Mula watched with the audience as animals entered from the end of the arboretum, a wire mesh provided for them to climb on and stabilize themselves. They used mouths, feet, and hands to
navigate over the mesh in zero gravity, but they were far away and difficult to observe.
Then, large slabs of Brachiosaurus meat slid across the tunnel-like arboretum on thin wires, and suddenly the movement at the other end ceased as the beasts became aware of the meat.
Some of the researchers gasped as the creatures, feathered in red and white, launched themselves like giant birds, one after another, toward the meat. The lead Enosaurus slammed into a piece of meat, latching on with its mouth, causing its own body to swing around until another dinosaur gripped the same slab and broke the wire with its bite.
The atmosphere in the arboretum turned a hazy pink as the meat slabs were slashed apart, eaten, and removed from the wires by the Enosauruses. Eventually the dinosaurs maneuvered the slabs back down to where they came in from and successfully took the slabs out.
Applause erupted all around Mula. And then the transparency faded and Ara stood in front of the window. She was a pretty woman, in her forties, with orange hair.
“You’ve now seen just a little of what these animals are capable of.” She looked at Mula. “This was one of our last tests at the end of a series of intelligence examinations. Could the Enosaurus navigate zero gravity? Learn how to hunt in such an environment?”
Mula almost scoffed. Who cared what they could do in zero gravity? “I don’t see how this proves anything more than ingenuity.” Mula rose to leave. The others in the room also rose, following Mula’s cue.
Ara reddened. “Please be seated. There is so much more to these animals.”
But Mula was no longer listening. He was weary of sensationalist demonstrations; there had been too many recently, far too many.
Ara rushed down from her place in front of the audience and pushed through the exiting crowd.
“How would you know?” she yelled at Mula.
“What?”
“How do you know they’re not intelligent. That they’re not the most intelligent thing we’ve found besides ourselves in the universe, and they just happen to be right here, on a world you helped create.”
“Helped create? I did create it.” Mula turned now to face her. Before he would have let her research continue. But now he had to make an example of her. He could not have more researchers acting out against him; they protested the basic principles of the project enough already.
“You’re not a scientist. How would you know if these animals are intelligent or not?”
“There is no argument here, Ms. Brown. I see what you’re trying to do. And your work is valid. But this won’t stop the next harvest. We must move along.” Mula stared at her, surprised at his own calm and collected response.
“You’d kill intelligent life? For what? For the sake of moving on?”
Mula turned his back to her and walked away, followed by his assistants. He leaned over and whispered in one assistant’s ear. “Have all the onboard creatures used for cognitive studies moved to the meat processing level.”
The assistant’s face twisted in shock. “And processed?”
“Yes.” Mula smiled. “Don’t worry. We can make more. But for now, it’s time to move on.”
* * *
The large debris field spun endlessly and slowly around Eno’s surface like dust around a lamp as the Lune blasted away. Mula watched the debris and felt a shameful sadness. He knew that moment with Ara at her demonstration had somehow led to the destruction of all his work. His choice to slaughter her specimens ignited a secret revolt. They couldn’t stop the harvest, but they did find a way to dismantle the sphere. The ones that weren’t with them, he imagined, got left behind when they stole multiple spacecraft. He was aloof after that altercation with Ara. She called several meetings with him, as did other researchers, but he denied them all, preferring to be alone. Perhaps that was a mistake, perhaps that’s why they took things into their own hands to save something they thought so precious—intelligent life. But an intelligence that was never adequately proven.
“Are you ready?” Flint’s voice resounded from behind.
Mula turned to face him. “I suppose I am.”
He followed Flint to the preservation tank and allowed himself to be strapped in. Mula took the requisite drugs from Flint’s hand and gulped them down, then he gazed on as Flint unspooled one of the tubes and placed it in Mula’s mouth.
He, Mula, would return and rebuild. What else could he do? But then Flint was saying something.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
Mula only gagged on the tube, momentarily forgetting it was there.
“…One of your rakers,” Flint continued. “I lost my whole crew for some scraps of DNA off Banola, and when I got back to Pril, you and your association were gone.” Flint looked angry and fear shot through Mula’s limbs. Why had he so easily trusted this man?
“I spent time in Pril’s detention center. They took my ship. This ship.” Flint gestured around with his eyes. “Because no one wanted those DNA scraps and I owed money. All I had was the damn Ancio and all it gave me were visions of my crew before they died.” Flint began to close the tank’s door.
“I wanted to kill you. I think the Ancio made me lose my mind. I wanted something for what you took.” Flint spit on the floor. “I thought if I didn’t find you here, at least I’d find something for my collection. But I so wanted to find you here. I wanted to confront you. You built all this. You’re not much different from me in that way.”
Mula struggled but knew it was no use. And what was he talking about? No one could be like him. No one could do what he had done.
Flint closed the tank door and Mula heard the seal, and the tank began filling with gel. He saw the outside images of Flint moving, lifting the tank up with a cargo carrier, then Mula was moving backward through a tunnel; he was upright and descending. The gel was almost to his chest.
They entered a dark room and lights flickered on. All around, shelves contained artifacts, lined in rows and stacked high above. All from Earth. The gel had risen to his neck, and he closed his eyes for a moment, opening them as he felt Flint turn the tank into an open space. Flint then left, and Mula looked forward, gazing over the artifacts in disbelief. An extreme sense of nostalgia mixed with his dread. The drugs began to take over, and he grew sleepy but desperately wanted to stay awake. Then he thought he saw something across the way, a small preservation container on a shelf. An artifact from his childhood: an ant encased in gel.
The gel rose around his nose and up to his eyes. Then his vision faded to black.
A Word from M. J. Kelley
I’ve always wondered to what lengths humans, displaced and disconnected from our home planet, would go to create a semblance of where we came from. Can we so easily leave Earth behind without any psychological ramifications? Classically, science fiction has portrayed these ramifications as madness, for instance, that isolated station operator orbiting some distant moon for years without human contact—finally, he snaps.
Insanity aside, there is a wealth of nuanced emotional possibilities worth exploring. Earth is more than a birth world. It provides us with some sense of belonging, a root to our beginning, to our history and evolution. The soil, the rock, the fossils, the artifacts—all are testaments embedded in nature, holding the story of our existence. What would we do without Earth? Without the physical connection to such roots?
The past is important to us. Many seek to know the past to understand our present, to understand who we are and where we came from, and to get an idea of where we’re going. We study it with awe and rigor, and some scientists now seek to resurrect pieces of it.
Cause and effect. The interplay between past and present. How do our choices cause ripple effects, ebbing and flowing invisibly throughout space and time and across history and evolution? And what happens when our choices converge the past with the present?
These are a few of the thoughts and questions that inspired “Victor Mula’s Earth Dream,” a story about preserving history and evolution by collecting remnant
s of a long ago deceased Earth and, ultimately, attempting to resurrect the planet’s entire evolution. It’s also a story about human choices, and how we can’t escape the choices we make. They’re a part of us, just like Earth is a part of us. And no matter how far we venture into the starry expanse of space, we may find ourselves gazing up at alien skies, looking for our world of origin, and longing for connection.
Thank you for reading and supporting these visions of the future. To learn more about me and my stories, please visit www.mjkelley.com
The Thundering Grind of Jurassic Gears
by Ed Gosney
IT MAY HAVE TAKEN fourteen years, but Fred Wichman finally got to see the traveling display of the most advanced animatronic dinosaurs ever created. And though he really didn’t want to, he took his mother with him. Eloise annoyed him to no end, but she deserved it as much as he did.
The first time the lifelike dinosaurs were here at the zoo, back in 2041, Fred and his mother made plans to go see them. But things happened, and it all got ruined. This time would be different. Now Fred was in control.
Fred felt happy. It would be a good day. As Eloise pulled into the parking lot, Fred looked out his window and was quite pleased with the weather. A nice blue sky, a few fluffy clouds, and the temperature was seventy-two degrees. Perfect.
Of course, the first thing his mother had to do when they paid their admission and walked through the zoo gate was use the ladies’ room.
“I’ve got to tinkle, Freddie, so just wait over there on that bench. We’ll see those dinosaurs soon enough.”
He closed his eyes and counted to three. Ten would have been better, but three was as far as he could get, because he had to say it before she disappeared into the restroom, and knowing her it would be a good ten minutes before she emerged again.
The Jurassic Chronicles (Future Chronicles Book 15) Page 22
