The Concordia Deception

by J. J. Green

  He was looking up at the Clock, watching the numbers change, when someone tapped him on his shoulder. He spun around just in time to see a little girl running away. She was from another class. He didn’t know her name. As she was running, she looked over her shoulder and giggled. Then she stopped and grinned. “You can’t catch me.”

  “Yes, I can,” Ethan exclaimed, and took off after her.

  The girl gave a squeal and sped away, darting behind some shrubs. Ethan followed, but the girl had disappeared. He paused. Where had she gone? She had to be on the other side of the bushes. He ran quickly around, just in time to see the flick of her ponytail and flash of her heels before she vanished.

  Ethan ran after her as fast as he could, but the girl was too quick. They ran around and around a large shrub, panting and giggling. Ethan was getting dizzy. He wanted to catch the girl, but how? He had an idea. He quickly about-faced and ran back the other way. A moment later, he collided with the girl and they bounced off each other before falling down onto the grass. Immediately, the girl stuck her knuckles in her eyes and began to sob loudly.

  Ethan got up, concerned. He rubbed his forehead where he’d hit it. He hadn’t meant to hurt the girl. He’d only been playing.

  Her crying attracted the attention of Ethan’s teacher. She came over and frowned at him, standing and apparently unharmed, and then at the girl, who was sitting on the ground and sobbing. She looked accusingly at Ethan.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked the girl. “What happened, Ethan? Did you hurt her?”

  Ethan didn’t reply. He had hurt the girl, but only by accident. He hadn’t meant to.

  The girl took her hands from her face and said, “Oh no, he didn’t hurt me. We only bumped.” She stood up and straightened her playsuit. Wiping away her tears, she gave Ethan a smile.

  “Okay,” said the teacher. “Well, be a little more careful, both of you. If you want to run around, look where you’re going.”

  The teacher went away, and the girl invited Ethan to play a game she’d made up using little sticks. It was a neat game. Ethan had a lot of fun and was sad when the teacher said it was time to go back to school.

  He waved goodbye as the girl’s class left the park in a crocodile line of pairs. His new friend turned back and waved too. He hoped he would see her again the next time his class came to the park.

  As he stood and watched the girl leave, the park turned strange and fuzzy. His teacher’s voice, telling him to hurry up, became distant and indistinct. The sadness he’d been feeling at his friend’s departure grew stronger and more painful. He had an ache in his chest that felt like someone had stabbed him. Ethan looked down. The agony was so great, he expected to see a knife handle protruding from his heart.

  He jerked awake, squinting in the sunlight that was now shining directly on his face. The flitter was unbearably hot. He opened his door, and refreshing, cool air rushed in. The pain from his dream still gripped him. Lauren. He’d dreamt of the first time they had met. His face was wet and he was breathing heavily.

  He slumped back in his seat. Lauren. Her death still hurt so much. Some days he would almost forget she was gone, but on others the memory would hit him like it was yesterday. He didn’t think he would ever get over losing her, or the appalling sense of helplessness when he remembered the moment he’d failed to save her life.

  He wiped his face on his shirt sleeve and checked the time. Almost an hour had passed. The shuttle would be arriving soon. He would have to try to brighten up a little for Cariad’s sake, though after his dream he felt almost guilty for arranging to meet with her. It didn’t feel right that he should go on living, meeting new people and doing new things, while poor Lauren’s life had been cut abruptly short.

  Ethan squinted up at the sky in the place where the approaching shuttle should soon appear. There it was. He’d seen the tell-tale flash as the sun hit it. Within moments he saw it properly, the silver wedge swooping down. In five minutes it would land and Cariad would be out soon after when she’d passed through the new arrival procedure.

  His sad mood began to lift a little. He would enjoy Cariad’s company for a quiet afternoon out at his farm. As the shuttle approached, he raised his hand to shade his eyes.

  A flash burst from the speeding ship, so bright it blinded him. An ear-splitting boom followed. Ethan blinked, desperately trying to bring back his vision, while his ears rang from the noise. When he could finally see, the sky was filled with smoking, flaming, spiraling parts, plummeting to the ground. Dimly, Ethan heard screams and shouts of disbelief.

  He was frozen, unable to process what he was seeing. His hand was still shading his eyes, his mouth agape.

  Debris from the shuttle began to rain down. Twisted pieces of metal pierced the shuttle station office and the lot. Outside, moaning, screaming, and sobbing continued, but Ethan couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move.

  Cariad had been on the shuttle.

  The shuttle had exploded.

  Cariad was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cariad had only been speaking to Strongquist for a moment when an emergency announcement broke into the line. A shuttle had exploded. Her news about Frederick Aparicio died on her lips. The interface screen in her cabin switched from Strongquist’s image to a vid of the vessel exploding. It was a view from the planet surface. Her legs were suddenly weak. She sat on her bunk.

  “Are you seeing this?” Cariad asked Strongquist.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I’m sorry to say.”

  In horror, Cariad watched the recording of the shuttle debris falling like rain on fire. Numbly, she tried to process the news. No one could have survived the explosion. How many had died? Each shuttle carried two pilots and four cabin crew. How many passengers had been aboard?

  She gasped.

  “Cariad?” Strongquist asked.

  She’d arranged to go planetside to see Ethan. She’d planned to travel on that shuttle, but her realization about Aparicio had wiped the arrangement from her mind. She should have been one of the passengers.

  Her stomach clenched. Ethan would have been waiting for her. He would have been at the shuttle field. He would think she was dead.

  And he might have been hurt by the falling debris. Had there been planetside casualties too?

  “I have to contact someone urgently,” she told Strongquist. “I’ll speak to you soon.”

  “Of course,” the Guardian replied, “but you said you had something to tell me about Aparicio. If you have any more information on him, I must know immediately. I don’t think this explosion is an accident.”

  “You don’t?”

  “It’s extremely unlikely that any vessel belonging to the Nova Fortuna Project would spontaneously explode. The shuttles were built well for their era and are very safe. We’ll investigate, of course, but my guess is that this is another Natural Movement sabotage.”

  “No,” Cariad exclaimed. “When is this going to stop?” She paused to collect herself. “What I have to tell you about Aparicio isn’t much, but it might help. I’ll comm you again in a couple of minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Cariad closed the comm to the Guardians’ ship and tried to open one to the planet surface. If she couldn’t contact Ethan directly she could at least leave a message at the farmers’ dorms. But the comm line wouldn’t open.

  Everyone aboard Nova Fortuna had to be attempting to comm the planet, she realized. Most shuttle passengers were Woken, traveling to the surface to take samples or make observations. Their friends aboard ship would be trying to find out if, by some miracle, they had survived.

  Nevertheless, Cariad tried to open a line again. She had to let Ethan know she was okay. Another ship-wide announcement broke in: “Ship-to-surface comms have been temporarily suspended. Preliminary reports on the shuttle explosion state that twenty-seven passengers and six crew were aboard. Guardians are at the scene surveying the wreckage. No survivors are expected.”


  Thirty-three deaths. The shuttle had been unusually full. Most of the time they only carried ten or fifteen passengers. Thirty-three more people had died, most of them Woken. Cariad wondered who they were. She dreaded finding out.

  Why had the Natural Movement targeted a shuttle? If the bomber had wanted to kill a lot of people, they only had to blow up one of the dorms, where hundreds of Gens slept. But they’d picked a shuttle, and an exceptionally full one at that. The intention was clear: kill as many Woken as possible.

  On her interface screen was a frozen image of the explosion. The passenger manifest and the names of the pilots and crew began to scroll across it. Cariad’s eyes were filling with tears. Many of the names were familiar. They were women and men she’d worked alongside for years preparing for the departure of the Nova Fortuna.

  Despite all the previous setbacks to the colonization, for the first time since her revival, Cariad felt hope slipping away. After the First Night Attack, and even after the stadium bombing, she’d clung to the belief that the colony would win through. She’d seen the saboteurs as serious but solvable problems. All the colonists had to do was catch the perpetrators and move on.

  But then Anahi had started up her mad, divisive schemes, including reviving the powder keg that was Aubriot. And now the Natural Movement had struck again, giving them all a brutal reminder of their lethal threat and the fact that even the Guardians with their advanced technology had failed to identify them.

  For several long moments, despair crushed down on Cariad. She questioned why she’d joined the project, why she’d left Earth and everyone she loved. She remembered her parents’ and her sisters’ last embraces. In those final moments, they had all clung together tightly. Guilt at her decision wrung every fiber of her being. How could she have put her family through that dreadful parting?

  There she was, light years away and nearly two centuries later, and everything she’d dreamed of was collapsing around her. She was about to be a participant in humankind’s first failed attempt at deep space colonization. She’d subjected the people she loved to deep pain and grief and deprived herself of their love and companionship for nothing.

  Then, as Cariad recalled the final look her mother had given her before they parted forever, something shifted deep inside her. Anguish and surrender were replaced by anger and determination. She wiped her eyes. She would not let the Natural Movement or Anahi win. She would fight for the colony with every gram of strength she had. She owed it to her family and she owed it to herself. She refused to accept that they had all suffered for nothing. She would make the colony a success or die trying.

  Hope remained. She had her friendship with Ethan, for one thing. Woken and Gens could work together. They could get through this.

  Again, she tried comm the settlement but nothing was working. When would they lift the suspension? A security alert sounded and the ship’s comm announced, “The Leader has declared a state of emergency. Shuttle flights and private comms are prohibited indefinitely. Please await further instructions.”

  No private comms? How could she contact Ethan? And Strongquist? Cariad got up. She had to find Anahi and try to talk some sense into her.

  ***

  The self-appointed Leader was at the official suite designated for the position. The Leader’s Residence included an office as well as living quarters. Traditionally, anyone could make an appointment to speak face to face with the Leader. By the time Cariad arrived, the office was crowded with people, appointments notwithstanding. It seemed like almost all the remaining Woken were crushed inside along with many of the Gens who worked aboard the ship.

  Cariad spotted Anahi in a corner, trying to speak to the crowd, but her voice was drowned out by the hubbub. People were discussing what had happened and shouting out questions. Cariad tried to push her way through to get closer to Anahi, but the office was too tightly packed. As she was trying to figure out a way to speak to her, Anahi got up on a chair and waved her hands, asking for silence.

  “Please,” she said as the noise died down, “I’m doing everything I can to keep control of this situation. We mustn’t panic. That’s exactly what the bomber wants. They want to undermine this colony.”

  “It was another bomb,” a voice exclaimed. “I knew it.”

  “That hasn’t been confirmed yet,” Anahi said, “but for now I’m treating the explosion as an act of terrorism.”

  “Do the Natural Movement really want to undermine the colony?” asked a Woken, a meteorologist. “It seems to me the saboteurs have switched tactics. Now they’re targeting us Woken. They want us all dead, and they want the Gens in control.”

  “We don’t know that,” said Anahi, irritation giving her tone a sharp edge. “We don’t know anything yet. It’s early days. We mustn’t speculate. The Guardians are already examining the wreckage to find out the cause. If the Natural Movement is responsible, the Guardians might find evidence that will lead us to the saboteur.”

  “When will we be able to comm planetside?” a plump young Gen maintenance worker asked. “I want to talk to my wife. She’ll be worried about me. And when will I be able to go home?”

  “These are all questions I’m not able to answer right now,” Anahi replied, her irritated tone intensifying.

  Cariad cupped her hands around her mouth. “Anahi,” she called over the heads of the crowd. “I have information that might help the Guardians catch the bomber. I have to comm Strongquist.”

  Anahi’s black visual aid turned in her direction. She gave a huff of frustration. “Very well, Cariad. Come with me into the back office.” She climbed down from her chair and the crowd eased apart a little to allow Cariad through. When she reached Anahi, the older woman unlocked a door at the back of the room and motioned her inside. When the two were through, Anahi closed and locked the door with a sigh. “My interface, over there.” She pointed. “It’s the only one that comms outside the ship.”

  Cariad wanted to speak to Anahi about her decision to ban private comms, but speaking to Strongquist was more urgent. She opened the interface.

  The Guardian answered immediately. “Cariad. It’s good to hear from you. I’ve been trying to comm Anahi to tell her I needed to speak to you urgently, but she didn’t reply.”

  Cariad looked at Anahi, who said, “Things have been a little busy around here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Cariad returned her attention to Strongquist. “I remembered where I met Frederick Aparicio. I know who he was.”

  “Excellent,” Strongquist said.

  “Okay.” Cariad took a breath. “He was one of the First Generation applicants.” Now that she’d finally recalled the man, small details of her encounter with him kept popping into her head. “His application was rejected. Subnormal sperm count.”

  “What’s this about?” Anahi interrupted. “Who was this man?”

  Cariad briefly explained how she’d been helping Strongquist with his investigations.

  “I see,” Anahi said. “Are you certain you remember who this man was? There were tens of thousands of applicants.”

  “I remember him because he appealed,” Cariad explained. “He took it all the way to the Supreme Court. Don’t you remember?” she asked Anahi. “There were about twenty rejected applicants who argued for their right to join the project. Their attorneys cited discrimination laws, human rights precedents—they really scraped the barrel.”

  “Yes,” Anahi said, “I do remember. I felt sorry for them.”

  “Me too, until I met Frederick Aparicio.” Cariad turned to the interface and Strongquist. “After they’d run out of appeals and the final judgment was given, Aparicio contacted me. He wanted to speak to me in person, he said. I was insanely busy, of course. We all were. But I agreed. Like Anahi, I pitied him. The litigants had spent millions fighting to join the Project and lost it all. I think they had to pay our defense costs too. I should have wondered then where a systems engineer got all that money, but I was overwhelmed with work and other concer
ns.”

  “Wait,” Strongquist said, “I have to echo Anahi. Are you sure you’re thinking of the right person? We have records of that court case. If Frederick Aparicio was involved, his name would have come up in our searches.”

  “I’m sure. I also don’t know why his name isn’t on your records, but I remember him coming into my office as clearly as if it were yesterday. He was pissed as anything. In fact, he was so angry, I was a little scared and considered calling security. I got him to sit down and I tried to explain the importance of optimum fertility in the candidates, which turned out to be a very bad move. He took it as an insult to his masculinity. So I tried a different tactic. I told him about the strict limitation on the numbers of the First Generation, and that all the supplies and the life support systems had been calculated based on that number, so we couldn’t add even one extra person. I emphasized that if we added him it would mean someone else would lose their place.

  “Nothing I said convinced him or even calmed him down. Finally, he accepted that a face-to-face meeting with one of the project organizers wasn’t going to help him. He stormed out. That was the last I saw of him. When I think about the encounter now, I’m surprised it took me so long to remember him. It was only when I was talking to a colleague about the decisions around what gametes to bring along that I finally slotted him into place.”

  Strongquist said, “I’m sorry but I have to ask you again, are you absolutely certain the person you remember was Frederick Aparicio? The human mind can play tricks, inserting memories where there are none and seeing patterns that don’t exist. Could it be that you’re mixing up your visitor with someone else?”

  “What can I say?” Cariad asked. “I’m as sure as I can be. Do you have my work records from that time? I would have made a note about the meeting.”

  “I’ll look into it,” said Strongquist. “All we’ve found on our suspect so far are his affiliation with the Natural Movement, public data on him, and the recordings you saw. We haven’t traced a single direct connection with the Nova Fortuna Project. If he was an applicant that should have been immediately apparent. That he was one of the twenty litigants in the… ” He paused. “I have an idea. I need to do some further research. I’ll contact you again if I need to ask you anything else.”