Seeds of Gaia

by Rick Partlow

  Telia’s expression seemed to soften a bit, her brow furled in perplexity at the strange, annoying little man.

  “I was injured,” she finally responded. “Badly.”

  “Very badly, I would guess,” Danabri said with a nod, “for you to consider bionics. I know they aren’t banned by the Consensus, but they can’t be too popular with the Naturalist Society.”

  “I was given a choice,” she told him. Sam was surprised he was able to draw all this out of her. “I could either spend the rest of my days in a mobile life support chair or take the bionics and never again live on Earth.”

  “You can’t go home?” Devon asked with a gasp.

  “I can visit for short periods,” Telia replied, stonefaced, “when my duty requires it. But I may not be permanently stationed there, and when I am no longer fit to perform my duties, I may not return again. I will be retired to a home on Luna.” She settled back into her seat with an air of finality. “I do not wish to discuss my personal life any further.”

  “Of course, Guardian Prime,” Priscilla said soothingly. “We apologize for prying.” She shot Danabri a glare. He shrugged and looked away.

  Sam tried to be angry with Danabri, but that annoyance was pushed away by the rage he felt at the actions of the Consensus. One of their security officers was injured and they rewarded her service by exiling her from her home planet. How in Gaia’s name were they going to be able to deal rationally with such people?

  Beginning orbital insertion as per the Consensus course data, Captain, the Raven told him.

  Well, Sam reasoned, I guess we’ll have to find a way…quickly, too.

  If Mars had been captivating and entrancing, Luna was something of a disappointment. Resolution moon colonies were built in accordance with the ideal of sticking as close to nature as possible. Structures looked like living things rather than metal boxes. When possible, craters were domed over with a water-filled double-layer of byomer---a lab-grown culture infused with a superstrong polymer---and stocked with bioengineered plant and animal life. Smaller, asteroid-size moons were often totally engulfed by a byomer shield, glowing green bubbles of life in the darkness.

  The Consensus Lunar colony was, by contrast, a lifeless ball of silicate rock, broken here and there by the harsh metal features of a mining facility or the surface entrance to one of the many underground cities. The Raven flew low and slow over the vast desert oceans and stark mountain ranges, following the course set by the Consensus coordinates, and following a history that was set in Sam’s memory. He knew every detail of the geography; he could almost see the tiny American flag set in the dust at the Sea of Tranquility.

  Every Patrol Officer learned in their first history classes about the tentative baby-step off the planet that had happened so long ago, but Sam had known about it before that, had studied the stories passed down from Mother’s data files when he was barely able to read. This was where everything that he was had begun and the sight of it filled him with an almost religious awe.

  Finally, the Patrol cutter slowed to a halt over the rectangular outline of a broad landing pad set a kilometer away from the entrance to one of the largest of the underground cities, and gradually began descending on gentle bursts of maneuvering jets. The landing gear settled onto the hard metal surface with a shudder that went through the ship and into Sam’s bones.

  “Power down the engines,” Sam ordered, knowing that Devon was already doing it. Sam had begun to notice the light Lunar gravity minutes before, and he felt a stomach-wrenching lurch as the landing pad they’d settled on began lowering into the ground.

  “The elevator doors will seal above us,” Telia announced, “and the bay will be pressurized.”

  “How thoughtful of them,” Sam breathed. Of course, it also meant that they could not leave the base without the permission of the Consensus authorities.

  The elevator deposited them deep beneath the surface, in a bay that was big enough to hold a dozen ships the size of the Raven but was now empty except for the Patrol cutter…and the squad of armored infantry that surrounded them almost immediately.

  Put a full security lockdown on all systems, Sam reminded the ship’s AI. I don’t want any of their Intel people snooping around in your guts.

  Already done, sir, Raven assured him.

  “All right.” Sam stood from his command chair. “Everyone on their best behavior.”

  They let Telia exit the ship first, hoping to keep the armed soldiers outside relaxed, but the reception she got was nearly as chilly as the one Sam expected.

  “Proctor,” the officer in charge of the infantry squad said curtly, not trying to hide his sneer. His blocky face was visible through the faceplate of his helmet and the disdain in his eyes was clear.

  “Guardian Fellows,” she nodded, shutting out his scorn with practiced ease. “I have delivered the Resolution representatives as instructed.”

  “You and your little freak show will be escorted to secure quarters,” Fellows told her. “None of you will talk to anyone except myself or the Consensus negotiation team, and none of you will leave your quarters unless escorted by either me or one of my squad. Any attempt to disobey these restrictions will result in your immediate expulsion from Consensus Space. We have detectors in place around your rooms that can tell us if any nanites leave your bodies. If you attempt to introduce any nanotechnological devices into the Lunar environment, this whole installation will immediately and automatically self-destruct.” His dark eyes traveled across their faces in harsh accusation. “Follow me and keep your mouths shut.”

  Sam felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. They were indeed in the belly of the beast now. Nothing heretofore had prepared him for the sudden sense of claustrophobia he felt marching through the close, antiseptic walls of the Lunar base, surrounded by armed enemy troops. There were no other Terran personnel present on their route through the base, not so much as a single maintenance worker; it seemed less a space colony and more a maximum-security prison. Suddenly he felt Priscilla’s hand brush his and he saw the look in her eyes…understanding and support. His breath came a little easier and he smiled at her gratefully.

  Finally, they came to what seemed to Sam like one more of the hundreds of unmarked doors they’d passed already, but the guards stopped so abruptly that the Resolution personnel nearly ran into the back of the leading troopers.

  “In here,” Fellows ordered, pushing the door open.

  “Ah, more luxury accommodations,” Danabri muttered as they filed inside, earning him a dirty look from Fellows.

  Sam remained silent as the door was slammed shut behind them, but he inwardly agreed with Danabri’s sarcastic assessment. They’d been shut into what looked like a military barracks: a long, featureless room with thin dividers separating narrow bunks and a single bathroom at the far end. What was worse, the room had a fairly low ceiling, and in the Lunar gravity, it was all too easy to take a normal step and wind up slamming your head right into the…

  “Sonofabitch!” Danabri bellowed, coming down to the floor holding his head with both hands. “Goddamned fucking Earther sons of bitches and their fucking Philistine architecture!”

  “At least it was your head and nothing important,” D’jonni cracked.

  Sam braced for the explosion from the little man, but to his shock, Danabri started chuckling softly instead. The Sensitive didn’t say another word, just moved on into the room and laid down on one of the bunks. Sam and D’jonni exchanged puzzled glances before sharing a shrug.

  “That was the first time anyone of us cracked back on him,” Devon said softly beside Sam, realization in her voice. “Maybe that’s what he’s been waiting for.”

  “Hell,” Arvid muttered from his seat on a nearby bunk, “if I had known that, I would have slammed his ass weeks ago.”

  “Everyone get comfortable…or as comfortable as possible anyway,” Sam directed. “Gaia knows how long they’ll keep us here before they get around to seeing us.”
/>   “I doubt it will be overly long,” Telia judged. “Your presence…and mine…is likely something of a discomfort to them.”

  Sam glanced at Priscilla, wondering that Telia was speaking so openly when they were almost certainly being bugged.

  “So Telia,” Sam said, “tell me something. I’ve studied Earth geography…where exactly are you from?”

  “I am from an agricultural center on the American plains,” she told him, her former reticence lost in depressed indifference. “It is called Grayson City, after the first Agricultural Minister of the Consensus government.”

  “I’ve seen pictures of it,” Sam nodded. “It used to be called Des Moines, Iowa, back in the old United States of America. A very pretty place.”

  “Did you like it there?” Priscilla asked.

  “It was a hard life,” the woman said, her eyes far away. “When we were not in school, we worked in the fields till after the sun was down. But in the winter, it snowed and we stayed inside and my mother told us stories about our ancestors.” She shook her head slightly. “Yes, I liked it. But I was ready to leave…I was so happy to become a Guardian. My mother was very proud of me. I was the first one in our line to qualify for the Academy.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?” The question, to Sam’s surprise, came from Danabri, who stood behind his shoulder.

  “She died last year,” Telia told him, a glint of wetness in her one natural eye. “Cancer. I had not seen her in five years.”

  “I am sorry for your loss, Telia,” Priscilla said, placing her hand on the Guardian’s tentatively.

  “They can’t take your memories away,” Danabri said, his voice wistful. “Your mother would be happy you remember her.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he shook his head and went back to sit down on one of the cots. Priscilla stared after him, a distress in her eyes that Sam didn’t understand.

  “What is it?” he asked her, frowning in confusion.

  “I can’t help but feel,” Priscilla replied so softly he almost missed it, “that in many ways we are much like the Consensus.” He wanted to ask her what she meant, but she shook her head and walked off to a bunk at the far end of the room.

  Giving up, Sam found a bunk of his own and stretched out, hoping against hope to get an hour or two of rest.

  ***

  When Sam woke to a hand shaking his shoulder, a quick check of his implanted computer told him that he’d actually slept for three solid hours. He opened his eyes and found Priscilla standing over him.

  “They’re ready for us,” she told him, nodding towards the door, where Guardian Fellows stood waiting for them.

  “How many?” he wanted to know.

  “You, Danabri and me,” she said quietly as he pulled on his boots. “And I had to pitch a fit with the stoneface over there to get Danabri included.”

  “Well, let’s not blow it then,” Sam said, rising to his feet. “Ready.”

  They followed the grim-faced Earther through the narrow corridors and into a large, plain-walled elevator. Sam felt a rumbling vibration running up his feet through the metal of the lift as it took them deeper into the base, setting his teeth and his nerves on edge. He tried to remind himself that failure meant the destruction of the home planet of the human race, but as the rumbling became more intense and grinding, he began to worry less about humanity’s survival and more about his own.

  When he noticed his hands starting to shake, Sam knew there was something not right, and a look at Priscilla confirmed it. She was chewing at her lip with obvious discomfort, her hands contorted into tight fists.

  “Cheap theatrics,” Danabri muttered behind them. Sam’s head twisted around and he saw that the Sensitive seemed unaffected by whatever was happening. “They’re using subsonic generators,” he told them.

  “Shut up,” Fellows snarled.

  “Oh, so sorry to spoil your little parlor trick.” Danabri sneered. “What, you’re used to bringing terrified prisoners down here and having them shit their pants by the time they get to questioning?”

  “Dead men shit their pants too,” the Guardian retorted. Danabri opened his mouth for another crack, but Priscilla halted him with a hand on his arm.

  Sam had to grin; the little Sensitive could be a pain in the ass, but he was fearless.

  The subsonics made the lift ride seem to last forever, but finally the doors slid open and they emerged into a wide corridor, bustling with activity. Consensus personnel in gray and green uniforms swarmed through the hallways with practiced ease, bringing to Sam’s mind an image of the human bloodstream he had seen in biology classes. As he stepped into the crowd of people, he felt like a foreign body in that blood stream. The Earthers stared at him with frank distaste, almost disgust, waiting for the virtual leukocytes to rid their neat little world of the messy intruders.

  Did he really want to save these people that badly? Badly enough to risk his life for it? He was glad Priscilla was the one who would be talking to them. He wondered how she did it, how she so passionately wanted to accomplish this mission despite the fact the Earthers wanted them all dead. Of course, that was the least of the things he wondered about Priscilla. He knew next to nothing about her…and yet he knew he was swiftly falling in love with her, which was almost as scary a prospect as trying to save the Earthers.

  As even the longest journeys do, theirs ended, terminating at a suite of offices that would have looked more at home in a military bunker. The guards fanned out around the entrance to the offices, taking up positions which seemed as much to keep everyone else out as to keep them in, while Fellows personally escorted them through the last set of doors.

  The chamber was spare, Spartan, unadorned, and it matched the man behind the desk perfectly. He didn’t rise to meet them, but Sam could tell he was a fairly tall man for an Earther born at standard gravity, broad across the shoulders and ruggedly handsome.

  With looks like that, he should be a politician, Sam thought irreverently.

  If he understood the Consensus system of planetary government correctly, they held popular elections not for individuals but for parties, the Naturalists and the Reformists at present, and whoever won the most votes was allowed to appoint the Prime Minister, while the runner up got the Deputy Prime Minister.

  It seemed inefficient and unscientific to him; people were flawed and poorly informed as a rule, and a popularity contest was hardly the best way to run a government. Sam tried not to jump when the door slammed behind them, but he couldn’t help a glance back at Fellows, who was sneering at him contemptuously.

  “I’m Jaime Tejado,” the handsome man told them, hands folded in front of him on the desk, face drawn into a scowl. “Deputy Minister of the Consensus. Say what you came to say.”

  Uh-oh. Sam didn’t need to be a Sensitive to read this man’s demeanor. He hadn’t even invited them to sit down, despite the chairs up against the far wall.

  “I’m Priscilla of the Resolution Diplomatic Corps, and this is Mawae Danabri, my colleague,” the woman told him, seemingly unfazed by Tejado’s attitude. “Captain Avalon is from our Patrol Service, commander of the ship that discovered the threat.”

  “I know who you are,” he nearly stepped on her words, his tone that of a superior chiding a subordinate. “I know why you’re here. Get on with it.”

  Anger surged in Sam’s chest at the obvious disrespect and he fought to tamp it down. If she wasn’t allowing it to bother her, then he should be able to stay professional…

  Metal scraped on concrete, loud and obnoxious and grating; it was Danabri because of course it was. He pulled the chair off the wall carelessly, oblivious to the disruptive sound or perhaps reveling in it, settling it in front of the Deputy Minister’s desk and then plopping down into it.

  If looks could kill, the Sensitive would have been dead three times over, but he ignored the outraged glares from Tejado and Fellows, crossing one leg over another, smiling at Sam’s dumbfounded ex
pression.

  “What?” Danabri demanded. “Did you think this Naturalist fundamentalist was going to give us a fair hearing no matter what we did?” He shrugged. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

  Sam was about to say something, about to try to make an apology he didn’t mean, when he realized Pris was pulling up a chair of her own, though without the sound effects. She sat down and gestured for him to do the same, and he finally gave up and grabbed the last chair for himself, leaving Fellows standing and scowling.

  “We have come a long way and gone to some very serious effort to be here, Minister Tejado,” Priscilla said, eyebrow arched with a decided lack of deference. “You may or may not decide to accept the help we’re offering, that’s your prerogative, but I will not stand here like a child brought into the principal’s office while you sit on your ass and stare at us with disapproval.”

  Tejado’s mouth curled into something less than a smile, but he nodded slowly.

  “Very well, then, Priscilla.” His tone was as frosty as his pale blue eyes. “You’ve had your seat and now you’ll have your say.” He gestured impatiently.

  “You know what’s coming,” she told him. “As you say, you don’t need us to tell you that; you’ve seen the reports. Unless someone is lying to you, you also know the only way to stop it is to build a Teller-Fox gateway in its path. If you think your government has the capability to do this on your own, then you don’t need us and we’ll leave.”

  “I don’t trust you,” the too-handsome man shot back, not sparing the vitriol. “For all I know, you’re behind all of this and your presence here is a trick to penetrate our defenses. Yes, we know this thing is coming, but we only have your word that it is what you say it is.”

  “What else do you think it might be?” Priscilla wondered. “Do you think we would build such a weapon only to alert you to its presence? For what purpose?”

  “Just because I don’t have all the answers doesn’t mean I intend to turn over our defense to our enemies!”