by J. J. Green
The Concordia Deception
Space Colony One Book 1
J.J. Green
Cover Design: Vivid Covers
Editing: L.M. Lengel
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter One
Their planet had no name, but they were about to fix that. Cariad sat on the stadium bench, a little bored, waiting for the Leader to get to the point. The votes had been cast. All the woman needed to do was make the announcement of the most popular choice, then the job would be done and everyone could party. But like the natural politician she was, the Leader wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity to speechify.
The colonists had been using the dry scientific designation or calling the planet their “new home” for long enough. It was time to finally settle the question of its name and get on with the colonization. Cariad stifled a yawn, conscious that, sitting in the box with the Leader, she was under everyone’s gaze. Ethan caught her eye and winked at her. He had to find the experience as tedious as she did.
The other members of the audience were tiring of the Leader’s drawn-out address too. The assembled Gens and Woken were restless and a low chatter had started up. Even the few Guardians present, stiff in their uniforms, appeared to be struggling to maintain their attention.
At last! The Leader was winding down her speech. She was consulting the interface in her podium. She placed a fingertip on the screen. “I am pleased to announce the winning name is—”
A massive explosion roared. Cariad was flung from her seat and through the air. She landed heavily, striking her head against something hard. Debris rained down, trapping her. She heard a crunch that sounded terrifyingly like a bone breaking.
As Cariad lay in the darkness, she found that she couldn’t move. Her ears were ringing. Dizzy and faint, she pushed against the wreckage that held her down, but it was too heavy for her to lift. And one of her arms didn’t seem to be working.
She was losing consciousness. Cariad fought to remain awake. She had to get out. She mustn’t pass out. She mustn’t. She hadn’t come all that way and broken the hearts of everyone who loved her just to die within weeks of Arrival.
Her confused mind drifted over the events of the day, trying to make sense of what had happened.
***
Cariad’s shift was over, but she wanted to check on the final batch of fetuses before she left for the Naming Ceremony down on the surface. She had time to catch the last shuttle planetside if she didn’t take too long.
Planetside. Cariad smiled as she repeated the word in her mind. She was picking up the Gens’ vernacular. Their English wasn’t very different from hers and the rest of the Wokens’, despite the one hundred and eighty-four Earth years that separated them, but the Gens had invented new words. She admired their creativity, though other Woken made a point of not adopting the new terminology. Quite a few Woken stubbornly insisted on calling themselves the “previously cryo preserved” or “project scientists” and using the Nova Fortuna Project’s official designation for the Gens, referring to them as the Generational Colonists. Still, the Gens’ words accurately described the new way of living. Why shouldn’t Cariad use them? In time, a blending of Woken and Gen language was inevitable.
She thumbed in the code at the Gestation Room door and exhaled into the breath-reader. The lock gave out its familiar metallic whir and clunk. Cariad eased the heavy door open and stepped into the dim red light of the room.
Fifty thick-walled, transparent gestation bags hung in rows from the ceiling. Some of the bags were motionless, others gently swayed or jiggled as the human infants inside squirmed or kicked, their tiny limbs testing the constraints of the artificial wombs.
As she walked the aisles, Cariad checked the bag monitors. She could have checked the growing babies’ vitals on her personal interface, but she liked to get a visual. She liked to see the little faces, slightly distorted by the pressure of the bag and the fluid that surrounded them. The babies would grimace and smile and yawn and suck their thumbs and sometimes even open their unfocused eyes. It was a pleasure to watch their personalities and habits developing even before they were decanted.
Her comm chirped, and she lifted her lapel button to check it. Ethan was calling. She opened the channel.
“Hi,” she said. “You’re still aboard the ship too? I thought you would have left by now.”
“Yeah. I was packing the last of my stuff. I transfer planetside today. Do you want to meet at the shuttle bay?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in around twenty minutes.”
“I’ll meet you at the entrance,” said Ethan. “Don’t be late. I’m not waiting for you.”
Cariad chuckled as she closed the connection. Ethan would wait for her even if it meant he might miss the shuttle and the ceremony. That was the kind of person he was.
Taking a final look at the last generation of colonists that would ever be decanted aboard Nova Fortuna, Cariad left the Gestation Room, passed through the Fertilization Lab, and walked to the nearest transit bay. Her footsteps echoed faintly in the empty corridors. All but a skeleton crew would remain aboard for the duration of the Naming Ceremony. Afterward, most of the Gens wouldn’t return to the ship unless for a special reason.
Cariad, as a Woken, would be able to come and go as the shuttle schedule allowed. For the time being, she was needed aboard ship. She would assist in the final decanting and wrapping things up in the reproductive facilities—shutting everything down properly was essential. If things didn’t go according to plan, they might need to start up the processes again.
What she would do after she’d finished her work aboard the Nova Fortuna, Cariad hadn’t yet decided. She would think about it during the Naming Ceremony, when she was planetside.
The transit car drew up and Cariad boarded the predictably vacant carriage. Without any more passengers to stop the car, she was whisked six klicks around the outer circumference of Nova Fortuna’s gigantic spoked wheel in less than ten minutes, arriving at the shuttle bay ahead of Ethan.
A few more last-minute passengers passed her at the entrance while she waited for her friend. By the time she finally spotted him approaching, she was beginning to wonder if she would be the one who would miss the Naming Ceremony due to his delay.
Ethan jogged closer, a large bag over his shoulder.
“Sorry,” he panted when he was wit
hin speaking distance. “Took longer than I thought.”
“That’s okay, but we’d better run. The shuttle’s leaving in one minute.”
They sped through the entrance and across the wide shuttle bay to the station at the very end, where a single shuttle stood, its ramp down. An attendant appeared as they approached and took Ethan’s case to stow it in the hold. The passenger cabin was nearly full but they managed to find two seats together, where they sat and caught their breath as the pilot made the final checks and sealed the hatch.
“I can’t believe I almost missed the ceremony,” said Ethan when his breathing had returned to normal and the shuttle was maneuvering from the bay. “What would I have told my grandkids when I’m old and gray? I’d have to make something up. Oh yes, grandpa had a front row seat and saw everything. The Leader forgot her words three times! No, that’s no good. I’d have to think up something more interesting than that.”
“Whatever you made up,” Cariad replied, “it would likely be more interesting than the actual ceremony. I know it’s a momentous occasion and all, but I’m not looking forward to it. Our new Leader’s capacity for monotonous droning has to be some kind of record.”
“Didn’t you know that’s an essential requirement?” Ethan asked, straight-faced. “The candidates take a test after nomination. If they can’t drone monotonously for at least four hours straight, they’re not allowed to stand for election.”
Cariad chuckled, but when her laughter subsided she said in a serious tone, “I still think it should be you up there speaking today. It’s what most people want. They look up to you. You would make a great Leader.”
“Uh, no, I wouldn’t. And I don’t want that anyway.”
Her friend began to look uncomfortable as he always did when she mentioned the issue, so Cariad let it slide. She would only be stating the obvious. The facts were plain: Ethan had saved hundreds of colonists’ lives practically single-handed during the First Night Attack, when a sabotage on the planet surface had led to an invasion of predatory native wildlife. Everyone knew of Ethan’s heroism, though the man’s role had never been formally acknowledged. The Gens and even some of the Woken would have felt safer with Ethan in charge, but his self-effacement wouldn’t allow him to even contemplate the notion.
“It’s a pity you can’t be Leader,” said Ethan. “You would be perfect for the job. Plenty of people would vote for you.”
“No,” Cariad replied. “It’s right that none of the Woken can stand for election. We’re from the old world. The new world belongs to you Gens. We’re only here to help with the transition.”
Ethan tutted and shook his head. “But if it weren’t for you—”
Cariad placed a hand on his arm. “We’ve talked about this often enough already. Let’s not go over it again, huh?”
He was referring to her actions that terrible night of the attack. She’d figured out how to repel the predatory organisms, but he always overstated her role. It wasn’t her who nearly died saving others. What was more, Ethan was wrong to think that the Gens would countenance a Woken as Leader. Gens viewed the Woken with a mixture of suspicion, envy, and animosity. The friendship between her and Ethan was rare.
The window covers around the passenger cabin opened and retracted. The shuttle had entered the atmosphere of the planet and would be landing soon. Cariad looked out at the view of the blue and green dome beneath them and wondered what the planet would be called.
They dropped lower. The settlement was coming into view. At the center of the small town of prefabricated houses Cariad could see the open-air stadium. Within it, she could make out the tiny moving figures of what had to be more than two thousand people. The surrounding streets were empty.
Beyond the town, a low jungle of vegetation spread out. The life forms that had attacked the first night’s camp had come from among the plants, and now a well-maintained electric fence and regular patrols protected against a reenactment of that terrible event. Cariad recalled the digging of the first cemetery afterward with sorrow.
To one side of the settlement the rest of Nova Fortuna’s shuttles stood in short, neat rows, and standing out among them was the sleek, shiny shuttle that belonged to the Guardians, the most recent arrivals at the planet. Their ship, Mistral, humanity’s first faster-than-light starship, hung in orbit above the new world like Nova Fortuna did, though Cariad had never been to it. The Guardians hadn’t invited any of the Woken or Gens aboard. It was odd, but no one dared to challenge them on the subject.
The shuttle was making its final descent, and Cariad realized that the normally talkative Ethan hadn’t spoken for most of the flight. He looked pensive as he gazed out at the rapidly approaching shuttle pad.
“Thinking about your new life?” she asked. “Have you received your allotment yet?”
“I haven’t, no,” he replied. “That’s tomorrow, I think. All the farmers have a meeting in the morning. I expect they’ll tell us then.”
“Is there any area you’d prefer? The lake area looks pretty.”
He shrugged. “I don’t really mind what they give me. The work will be the same. Clear the land, plow, sow, reap, just as people always did on Earth.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it.”
The cabin intercom chimed. “We have safely touched down,” said the pilot. “Welcome to your new home and new life.”
His announcement was met with cheers and applause. For some of the passengers, it was their first time on the planet. If they worked in a profession that had kept them aboard Nova Fortuna, they might not have had the opportunity to go down to the surface up until then, but everyone was invited to the Naming Ceremony.
“Disembark from the rear,” the pilot instructed them. “That’s the cool zone. And no pushing. You have plenty of time to get to the stadium before the ceremony begins.”
In spite of his words, the rising excitement in the cabin did result in a mild scuffle among the passengers in their eagerness to leave the vessel. Cariad and Ethan waited for the aisles to clear. When they finally arrived at the bottom of the ramp, a Guardian called Strongquist was waiting for them. He had never told Cariad his first name.
Like all of the Guardians, Strongquist was tall and he wore the Guardian uniform: a tunic of dark gray with thin white stripes, close-fitting and neat from his gaiters to the collar. His hair was drawn into a neat top knot and not a trace of stubble was visible on his face. He nodded in greeting as they reached him.
“Ethan, Cariad,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I was becoming concerned that neither of you would make it to the ceremony. None of the shuttles were posting manifests, and I believe this is the last one.”
“You’ve been waiting for us all morning?” Cariad asked.
“I have, but that’s no matter. It’s been interesting to meet more colonists. Would you care to accompany me to the stadium?”
Cariad exchanged a subtle look with Ethan. Like her, he seemed uneasy about the invitation but she couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to refuse.
Everyone Cariad had spoken to about the Guardians seemed to share her unease regarding the newcomers. They had set out in humanity’s first faster-than-light starship centuries after Nova Fortuna had departed, to warn the colonists of the plot to sabotage the colony, which they had uncovered in historical documents. And they had been the colonists’ ultimate saviors during the First Night Attack—no one could deny it.
“I have to collect my luggage,” Ethan said, and walked around to the hold.
Strongquist was watching Cariad expectantly, waiting for her reply.
“Sure, we can go together,” Cariad said. “Why not?”
Ethan reappeared with his bag. He looked hopefully at Cariad, but his expression fell when it became clear she hadn’t thought of a way to turn Strongquist down.
The Guardian positioned himself in the middle as they left the shuttle pad and crossed the open area that led into the settlement. The passage of many feet h
ad already worn paths through the rubbery, moss-like ground cover.
“You must both be very excited to be present at the naming of not only a new world,” said Strongquist, “but also humanity’s first deep space colony. I know I am. It’s quite something, don’t you think? The names of every person present today will go down in history.”
“Are we still the first, then?” Cariad asked, seizing the opportunity to probe the man for information. The Guardians were always coy giving news about Earth. “No colony ships left after ours? I’ve always wondered about that.”
Strongquist looked like he’d swallowed a fly. “Er, no, none did.” He paused. “As you know, the Natural Movement was growing very powerful at the time Nova Fortuna departed, and soon afterward it entered its heyday. The Movement’s influence continued for centuries.” He brightened his tone. “But that’s all in the past. Today we should be thinking about the future. And what a future it will be. Nova Fortuna colonists will thrive and spread across the planet. I’m sure of it. And, who knows, one day another colony ship may launch and humanity will take a step farther out into the galaxy.”
“That’s a long way ahead,” Ethan said, “if we ever get there. I’ll be happy if we make the first target of sustainability within five years. That’s what we should be thinking about right now. Not what our descendants might achieve. We’ll all be dust by then.”
“Practical as always, Ethan,” said Strongquist. “I can always rely on you to bring me back down to Earth, or rather, I wonder what name I should use? What did you vote for?” He addressed the question to Cariad.
“I didn’t vote.”
“You didn’t?” said Strongquist. “Why not?”
“A: I really don’t mind what we call it, and B: I don’t feel I have the right.”
“Don’t have the right?” Strongquist’s tone was surprised. He turned to Ethan. “What about you? Don’t tell me you didn’t vote either.”
“I did vote. I voted for—”
A klaxon sounded within the stadium. The ceremony was about to begin.
