by J. J. Green
“I don’t agree with the way Anahi’s gone about it, but I can’t deny that she has a point. If we allow you to continue as you have been, acting stupidly with no thought of the future, this colony might fail. If we sit by and let you do what you want, we could all end up dead. All that work, all that sacrifice by tens of thousands of people will be for nothing.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Ethan said. “Why can’t you trust us? You made us after all. You, Cariad, are personally responsible for our genetic inheritance. What you’re saying is, you got it wrong. That’s what you can’t stand. You think you messed up. That’s what’s bothering you. That’s why you want to take back control. The real problem is that we don’t mindlessly obey. Do you want a second chance? Do you want to create people who will do as they’re told? Your children have grown up and you don’t like it.”
Cariad’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides, but she didn’t offer a return argument. “I’m going back to the ship. I’ll speak to the others and see what I can do.”
Ethan couldn’t stand the hurt look on her face. He also couldn’t take back what he’d said. When he didn’t reply, Cariad walked away. He watched her go. She glanced back and their gazes met, but still he said nothing.
***
After waiting for Cariad to turn the corner, Ethan went to see Garwin. The older man’s job as a “Priority 1” worker had qualified him for one of the first private homes that had been constructed. He was a mechanic and chief supervisor overseeing the construction of the plows, roadmakers, and other machinery involved in creating the infrastructure of the settlement. Most of the rest of the Gens were housed as Ethan was, in large, temporary dorms and barns while they waited for more permanent homes to be built.
As soon as Garwin opened his door and saw who had come to pay him a visit, he glanced from side to side along the street, which was empty. He pulled Ethan quickly inside, his usually open, friendly features creased into an expression that mixed irritation with concern.
“Not a good idea coming to my house, Ethan,” he said quietly the moment the door was closed and they were alone in the dim, quiet hall of his small home.
“Sorry,” Ethan replied. “I didn’t think about it. Did you hear what—”
Garwin’s wife, Twyla, had stepped into the hall from the living room. She was a tall, raw-boned woman. Her welcoming smile seemed fake. “Hello. You’re Ethan, right? I didn’t know you were one of Garwin’s friends. There’s no need to stand and talk out here. Why don’t you come in and have something to drink?”
Twyla gestured for them to follow her and turned away. Garwin shrugged. Ethan guessed that his wife might not be privy to his subversive activities. He went through with him to the living room of the prefabricated house.
The room’s pale gray walls were brightened up with cut-out prints of brightly colored flowers, which made the place seem less utilitarian. Ethan was reminded of conversations he’d had with Lauren about how they would decorate their farmhouse.
“Tea or coffee?” Twyla asked.
“Tea would be fine,” Ethan replied.
Garwin said, “Sweetener?”
Ethan was about to say no, but an almost imperceptible nod from Garwin made him alter his response. “Er, yes please.”
“Oh, we don’t have any sweetener,” Twyla said. “We don’t use it.”
“The store’s still open,” Garwin said. “Maybe you could go and get some. It’ll be handy for guests.”
“I guess so. Sit down, Ethan. You’re our first visitor, you know.” She went out into the hall.
As he took a seat in the armchair of their matching living room set, Ethan began to speak, but Garwin held his finger to his lips. He said, “I know why you’ve come, Ethan, but I’m sorry, I’m no further along with that plow than I was yesterday. Like I said, the kit was incomplete, and I’m waiting for the missing part. It has to be printed and sent down. Until I receive it, there’s nothing I can do. It isn’t like I can just open another container and take it from there. Those things contain thousands of parts.”
The sound of the front door closing came through from the hall, and Garwin went out to check that Twyla really had left.
When he returned, Ethan said, “I didn’t realize your wife doesn’t know what else you do. Maybe I should go.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re here now. We might as well make the best use of the time till Twyla returns.”
“You heard about—”
“The assault on the shed? Of course. That news is probably halfway back to Earth by now.”
“We need to talk about that,” said Ethan, “but it’ll have to wait for another day. We don’t have time at the moment. But I just wanted to tell you, we learned something important today. The Guardians will do whatever the Woken tell them, and they’re prepared to use lethal force. We nearly didn’t make it out of that shed. We can’t let them catch us out again. What I want to know is, what are we going to do to protect ourselves?”
“I totally agree,” Garwin replied. “That’s a question that needs answering immediately. We’ve been playing it too safe with plenty of talk and precious little action. It’s time to take control of the situation. We need to go on the offensive. The biggest problem we have is that nearly all of us are down here. The Woken are up there… ” He pointed at the ceiling. “And as well as the force of the Guardians at their disposal, they have most of the technology and control.”
“So what can we do about it?” Ethan asked.
“I’m not sure, but I had an idea. If the situation doesn’t improve, as long as we stay here, we’re at their mercy. They know exactly where we are and what most of us are doing most of the time. But we do have some things on our side. We’ve been trained in everything we need to build a civilization on this planet. It’s been our one collective purpose in life since we were born. The Woken are a bunch of scientists. Sure, they know more than us, but do they have the numbers or the raw power to make a colony on their own? They might not realize it, but they need us more than we need them.”
Ethan had an idea what Garwin meant, but it was almost too radical for him to comprehend. “What are you saying?”
“Look, we already have enough supplies down here to last us another year, plus tons of equipment. Most important of all, we have skills. Skills that are perfectly suited to the job ahead. But if we remain where we are, the Woken have us exactly where they want us. They’re going to exploit us for their own ends.”
“You’re suggesting that we leave and build another settlement someplace else, aren’t you?”
“Exactly.”
Chapter Thirteen
As Cariad went to the meeting that Strongquist had called, her wish for easy solutions to the problems that dogged the colony was peppered with pessimism. Anahi’s behavior was unhinged, yet Cariad doubted that she could convince the woman of that, nor any of the Woken who supported her. She’d tried speaking to them as individuals but she hadn’t made much headway. Rather, she seemed to have turned some of them against herself. And after the confrontation over the weapons, the Gens were also unlikely to be in a conciliatory mood.
When she reached the room aboard the Nova Fortuna they were using for the meeting, Anahi had already arrived. She was the only person there, but she didn’t acknowledge Cariad when she went in, preferring an icy disregard, no doubt due to Cariad’s interference in the standoff over the Gens’ weapons. Cariad sat down and the strained silence continued until Strongquist stepped in closely followed by Faina. With an air of statesmanship, Anahi stood and welcomed the newcomers.
She had re-assumed the role of Leader as soon as she’d learned of Cariad’s trick. Then she’d immediately altered the legislation to prevent any further usurping of the position. The move had been inevitable, but Cariad was a long way from backing down over the issue.
The two Guardians sat together opposite Anahi, looking oddly twin-like side by side in their uniforms. Cariad had taken a seat at t
he end of the table. Strongquist had said he was also inviting some Gens. She had high hopes over who one of them might be. It would make sense for the Guardian to invite prominent members of the Gen community, especially those who had been involved in the incident at the equipment shed.
Garwin entered first. Cariad approved of Strongquist’s choice. The man was sympathetic to the Woken concerns and well-liked among the Gens. They would listen to him. As the older, broad-shouldered man took a seat next to her, the person she’d been hoping to see also entered the room. Ethan. They exchanged small smiles. Cariad was relieved their friendship seemed to remain intact despite their recent falling out.
Strongquist leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. “Thank you for coming, everyone. I hope you’ll agree it’s long past time that some of us tried to take these problems the colony has been experiencing in hand. I’m hoping we can thrash out some steps toward solving them today.”
“Wait a minute,” Anahi said. “Are these all the people you invited? I wasn’t expecting so few. I suggested several names to you, but none of those people are here. Shouldn’t we have a little more expertise on board before we make any major decisions on the future of this settlement? And I’m not sure what she’s doing here.” The black strip of her visor turned to Cariad. Her face was stony.
“Leader,” Strongquist began. Cariad balked at his use of the designation for the mad woman. “I didn’t intend that any decisions about the future of the Nova Fortuna colony be made at this time. Instead I believe we should address the widening schism between the Gens and the Woken. We need to make an effort at conciliation and a meeting of minds. I propose that we address that concern first. We need to find a way to avoid further violence and to move toward returning to the previous atmosphere of mutual goodwill.”
“I’ll suggest a way to avoid further violence,” Ethan said bitterly. “You Guardians can stop your military tactics and the Woken can stop using you to control us. Let us Gens go about our business freely. We haven’t done anything that calls for our control by armed forces, and even if we had, so what? This colony is ours, as the Manual says and the Woken used to say, until they changed their minds.”
Cariad raised her eyebrows. He was right, but she was surprised to hear him speak so forcefully in front of Anahi and the Guardians. Ethan was growing in confidence day by day.
Strongquist’s expression was pained. He leaned back in his seat. “What happened at the equipment storage unit was a situation that got way out of control. We should have found a better solution than an aggressive confrontation like that.”
Ethan asked, “So we can have your guarantee that the Guardians will never threaten the Gens again?”
Strongquist looked at Faina for a moment.
Faina answered Ethan’s question. “It’s important that you understand our mandate is to support this colony at all costs. We must avoid the loss of life as far as we possibly can—the Guardians who were trying to retrieve the weapons from the tool store were firing on stun setting—but if, in the direst circumstances, we must use deadly force to ensure the success of the colony, our mandate allows us to do that.” As she finished speaking, her pale brown eyes seemed to lose all warmth.
“What the hell are you saying?” Cariad exclaimed. “You’re telling us that Guardians have the right to kill “for the good of all?” Who gave you that authority? No one here did. Not one person aboard the Nova Fortuna or planetside has that right.” She looked pointedly at Anahi. “And who are the Guardians to judge what’s best for the colony and what isn’t? You can’t see the future. You can only guess, like the rest of us.”
“Damned right,” Ethan exclaimed, hitting the table with his fist. “The first Gen you kill will be the last. It’ll be war.”
Into the tense silence that followed the outbursts, Strongquist said, almost apologetically, “I don’t recall anyone objecting to the execution we carried out following the First Night Attack.”
Cariad and Ethan’s gazes met. The Guardian’s point was a good one. Not one person had challenged their actions when the Guardians killed the person who had turned off the electric fence, resulting in many horrible deaths. But at that moment, everyone had agreed who the enemy was. It was now that they might suddenly become the enemy that they objected to the Guardians’ license to kill.
“This is all nonsense,” said Garwin in a conciliatory tone. “How can it be for the good of the colony to use lethal force? The First Night Attack was a special case, and if we ever catch the bomber who blew up the stadium, we’ll make another exception. But for the general settlers—Gens and Woken alike—we need every one of them. There are only just over two thousand of us. I’m not a geneticist, but isn’t that the bare minimum needed for the genetic diversity to colonize a planet? Aside from the moral objections to murdering people, we can’t afford any more bloodshed. We need every single person.”
Anahi spoke. “Actually, no. We don’t.” She paused for effect, a wry smile on her lips. Garwin and Ethan looked confused, but Cariad knew what she meant.
Anahi went on, “We have enough eggs and sperm stored to replace every Gen ten times over. It wouldn’t be easy of course. We’d have to reopen the reproductive labs, gestate the infants, and then care for excessive numbers of them at a time, but it’s feasible. I think we could do it.”
“You’re insane,” Cariad said. “Whether we could do it or not is immaterial. You’re talking about threatening the lives of thousands of people just because they won’t do what you want. And what if this next generation you raise from babies also disobeys you? Do you plan on murdering them too? On and on, until our supplies run out and at last the colony fails?”
“Stop downplaying the Gens’ actions, Cariad,” Anahi replied. “You need to stop making excuses for them. You know as well as I do the expertise and care that went into crafting the Manual. If they pick and choose what they follow and what they ignore, it puts the colony and all our lives in jeopardy. If they won’t do as they’re told, they have to be stopped. And if I have to command the Guardians to take whatever steps necessary to make them comply, I will do that.”
“Aside from the insane logic of your thinking,” Cariad said, “you’re forgetting that Manual was written on another planet centuries ago. We were both there, remember? We both helped to write it, and at the time, we acknowledged that we couldn’t anticipate every eventuality; that the Manual was a guide only.”
“And yet it’s the best guide we have,” Anahi retorted between her teeth. “If anyone’s going to make a decision to deviate from it, it should be us.”
Cariad shook her head. “You, you mean. There’s something wrong with you, Anahi. Seriously. You aren’t the person I worked with on the Nova Fortuna project.” She turned to Strongquist and Faina. “I believe Anahi may have suffered brain damage while in cryonic suspension or during revival. She should be medically examined and treated if necessary. It’s only manifested over the last few weeks, but she’s becoming more and more irrational with each day that passes.”
“How dare you,” Anahi shouted, rising to her feet. She took a breath as if to launch into a verbal attack, then she smiled and sat down. “Why should I care what you think, Cariad? If I’m suffering from brain damage, how is it that most of the Woken agree with me? You must be just about the only dissenter, which makes me wonder why Strongquist even invited you to this meeting.”
“Cariad performed a great service to this colony,” Strongquist said, “and I believe that many Gens and some Woken respect her opinion. Despite your assertions, she is as influential as anyone sitting around this table.”
Anahi simmered but she didn’t reply.
“So what’s the way forward?” Garwin asked. “We need to find a way to make things work between all parties. I’m sure none of us want the Guardians put in a position where they feel the need to exercise their mandate.”
“The way forward is to return to how things were,” said Ethan. “We elect a Gen
Leader and we get on with making our new home habitable—without interference.”
“No,” said Anahi. “The proposal of a Gen Leader is off the table. I won’t countenance it and neither will the rest of the Woken. If you ever prove capable of following the rules we set out, maybe we’ll think about it, but I doubt that’s going to happen in the near future.”
Ethan’s expression darkened. He was about to respond but Garwin laid a hand on his arm. An unspoken message passed between them that Cariad couldn’t interpret. “I have a solution that I believe both sides might agree on. How about this? If, whenever a Gen sees the necessity of deviating from the Manual, they send up a request along with their reasons for it. Then Anahi, as Leader, can grant it or not.”
Ethan shot Garwin an indignant look. The older man gripped the younger’s arm tighter. Ethan looked down and remained silent. Something ulterior was clearly going on between the two men but Cariad couldn’t guess what it was.
After a few moments’ consideration, Anahi replied, “I think I could live with that.” A collective breath exhaled. The mood in the room lightened a notch, though not on Ethan’s part. He remained gazing downward, a frown creasing his brow.
The attendees began to shift in their seats. The meeting seemed to be drawing to a close, but Cariad still had questions. “Strongquist, do you have any updates on your investigation into the stadium bomber?”
“Only in the negative sense, I’m afraid. I inquired of all the Woken about the name you recognized from the list of Natural Movement followers, but no one else remembers him. We’ve also gone through all the backgrounds of every Woken, revived or not, and we haven’t turned up a single lead.”
“Are you saying the bomber was a Gen?” Ethan asked.
