The Cronian Incident (The Formist Book 1)

by Matthew Williams

  “Have you grasped the importance of this place yet, Pota?”

  Emile chafed at Pinter’s use of the word. Though meant as a term of affection, and hardly inaccurate, being called “grandson” in the old tongue only made him aware of his place. He tried not to let his reaction show as he responded. “It holds fond memories for you, Dādā, you come here to reflect.”

  “Wrong!” Pinter jabbed a finger towards his grandson, turning suddenly. “I come here because it symbolizes to me, more than anything, the work we are doing. Around us, native species exist – ones which are perfectly at home here – but which were alien and considered an invasive species half a world away. Here, the ancient culture the people sought to preserve was of a conquering tribe that entered the region long ago and left its mark.” He drew his arms wide, taking in all their surroundings. “There are countless places like this on Earth, Emile. Countless reminders of how people have come and gone, bringing with them their habits, customs, styles, plants and animals. It’s virtually impossible to take a step in any corner of the world and not tread upon an ancient cultural landscape shaped by so many generations of people and their activity.”

  Pinter paused to take a breath, letting his arms fall to his sides. Emile suspected he was getting a reprieve so he might show he now understood the old man’s point.

  “And now we hope to do the same with Mars? Leave an indelible mark?”

  “An invasive species,” Pinter repeated. “Everything we hope to build down on the surface, from grasses and mosses to stabilize the Red Dunes, to the trees and shrubs we hope to plant to enrich the soil. But most important of all is the people. All those alien organisms are the result of billions of years of terrestrial evolution on a different world. No matter how similar Mars is to our native Earth, nothing can change the fact we are – from any Martian perspective – completely alien.”

  Emile began nodding. As was often the case, he wasn’t quite comprehending, though he’d learned enough over the years to know when and how to humor his grandfather, let him know he at least appreciated what he was hearing. And where comprehension failed, the mere act of listening was often enough.

  “And yet we do it,” Pinter continued. “We do it because we believe it to our destiny. We do it because we believe we have that right. We do it because we must. But most of all, we do it because we can. Do you understand now?”

  Emile stopped nodding. He couldn’t tell why, but something inside him demanded he answer honestly, even bluntly. “No, I don’t, Dādā. I have no idea why you’ve dragged me down here at all.”

  Pinter looked surprised, but laughed his grandson’s bold response off and explained.

  “A long time ago, I committed our family to making one of the greatest dreams of humanity a reality. I knew I could not do this in my lifetime, and so I underwent certain procedures to ensure I outlived my natural life expectancy.”

  Pinter raised one arm and snapped his fingers. Instantly, the picture of him changed to one of an aging man barely resembling his younger self. His hair, once jet black, was now the color of white ash, his face haggard and worn. His eyes were sunken and looked similarly worn down, the rest of his flesh hanging off a skeletal frame that hunched forward. He also appeared to be a few inches shorter than before. Emile failed to suppress a gasp at the transformation. Even in the old pics of his grandfather, he had never seen the wasted, bent-over figure now stood before him.

  “Dādā?” he half whispered.

  “You don’t recognize this old man, do you? I can scarcely blame you. Whatever traces of him that existed were erased from the archives. I made sure any remaining images of me showed only my renewed self. Luckily, I kept a few images on file for myself, so I would never forget what I truly looked like when I traded my humanity for immortality.”

  Pinter snapped his fingers again, producing a less youthful image than his original avatar, but one more vibrant than the wretch he’d portrayed previously.

  “What – I don’t –”

  “You’re too young to remember. But one of the greatest detrimental effects the earliest colonists were forced to deal with was the effects Martian gravity and its radiation had on our physiology. Despite our best efforts and methods, our bones would weaken, our muscles would degenerate, and our organs would deteriorate faster than we were used to. It was only by the grace of genomic enhancements we ever managed to make a home of this world, and not die off as so many expected. I, as you can see, underwent such a procedure a mere decade after I arrived. It gave me back much of my youth, and staved off a premature death.” He looked down at his body, raised one arm and then the other, tightening the muscles. “I didn’t do it for reasons of vanity. I knew if I wanted to see future generations walking and talking under a Martian sun, and breathing Martian air, I needed to remain hale and hearty. At least until there were others I was able to pass it all onto.”

  “Yes, I know this, Dādā.” Emile expected Pinter to launch into another diatribe about Emile’s father. The disappointment that was Raoul, the would-be heir to the Chandrasekhar dynasty, who’d turned away from it all to run off to the Rim. Surprisingly, Pinter’s next words went in another direction entirely.

  “I’ve been going over the household data stores of late. I noticed considerable amounts of information coming and going from Lovelock to which I don’t have access. But when I attempted to look closer, to find the points where this information was coming and going to, I was rather confused.”

  Emile swallowed hard and nodded. Finally, it seemed, Pinter came to the real point of this meeting. Emile had been anticipating this conversation for some time, and the old man had certainly given it enough of a précis to conceal its arrival.

  “Dādā, I understand your confusion. I wanted to tell you. I just wasn’t sure how.”

  “How to tell me what, exactly? That you’ve been communicating privately with our people in the field for years now? That you are speaking to our people behind my back, effectively cutting me out of the operations that I created?”

  Emile raised his hands defensively. “That’s not what I’ve been doing.”

  “Understand something, Pota. You are the heir to my ventures, and everything I have worked for. While I don’t for a moment believe this is something that belongs to me, or that it doesn’t go so far beyond me that I am insignificant in the grand scheme of it, I will not be cut out of the process. Not unless I have a good understanding as to why.”

  Emile kept his hands raised, waiting for Pinter to finish. He had known if and when Pinter found out, there would be a considerable brunt to bear. But he was also prepared. Marshalling his thoughts, Emile delivered the only explanation he knew his esteemed predecessor would accept.

  “I would never do such a thing, Dādā. While I know you would never be as bold as to claim what we’re working towards is about you, or that everything we have accomplished flows from you, such sentiments would be entirely true. I could not hope to replace you, or usurp your role in any way.”

  Pinter sighed, but did not reply. Emile still retained the floor, which was a good sign.

  “My only purpose, Dādā, was in protecting you. And protecting our work.”

  Pinter’s brow furrowed. Emile let his words hang in the air until his grandfather was compelled to respond.

  “What are you talking about? Protect me from what?”

  Emile drew in a deep breath. The moist, scented air felt heavy as he filled his lungs with it. Given what he proposed to share, it felt necessary to take a moment before speaking.

  “From intrusion, Dādā.” He allowed for another pause, though not long enough for Pinter to respond. “For some time, we’ve been fearing our rivals might be plotting against us, looking to infiltrate our networks. What we’ve been doing, we did to ensure no one would be able to access information on our most sensitive operations.”

  “‘Most sensitive?’” Pinter echoed. “What are you referring to?”

  “The very work Doctor Lee a
nd Doctor Amaru were conducting. In the past few months, our negotiations with the governments on Callisto and Titan have required a level of discretion. They’ve been reluctant to give final approval for our contracts, and we’ve been doing what is necessary to ensure they oblige us.”

  Pinter scoffed and nodded at this news. It wasn’t the first time in his many years that politicians looked to hold up a project for self-serving reasons. “Are we talking about inducements, or outright bribes?”

  “Nothing serious, Dādā. A few choice payoffs here and there, some promises elsewhere. It was done only to ensure the governments continued to maintain our agreement, and on our terms. But if anyone were to learn of these dealings, we should surely be humiliated.”

  “And for this reason, you chose to keep me out of the loop,” Pinter said in understanding.

  “It was necessary, Dādā. If anything were to become public, we needed to ensure you retained full deniability. With the disappearance of Doctor Lee, we’ve become even more concerned about possible leaks.” Emile cast his eyes down, a sign of contrition he hoped his grandfather would appreciate. “I hope you understand. We had no intention of deceiving you.”

  Pinter put his hand to his forehead and rubbed at the skin between his eyes. Emile knew what he must be thinking – how this certainly explained his grandson’s recent behavior, but also how it complicated things immensely at this point. He chose to ask the obvious, and naïve, question to help move things along. “Now you know, will you attempt to put a stop to it?”

  Pinter looked at him angrily. “No! No, of course not, Pota.” Placing his hand on Emile’s shoulder, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I wish you had told me. I might have helped, and offered some counsel. Now I imagine we’ll simply have to proceed and try to put this behind us.”

  Emile smiled. “Does this mean I also have your leave to continue conducting these negotiations?”

  Pinter appeared to need a second to consider, before eventually giving him a curt nod.

  “You have always had my trust, Pota. If you feel this is necessary, I won’t attempt to intervene. Just promise me you’ll proceed carefully.”

  “I might only succeed you, Dādā.”

  Pinter returned his gaze to the distant hillside. Emile took that as a sign of dismissal and turned to leave. He made it only a few steps across the cobblestone before Pinter called out to him.

  “You will, however, give me access to the additional network, yes?”

  Emile paused, hesitating for a second before turning to face the older man. He ensured he wore the same look of contrition, punctuating it with a meek smile.

  “Are you sure, Dādā? Once you know about everything we’ve been doing, well, you can’t unknow it.”

  “I know,” Pinter replied. “But I would prefer to be in the know.”

  Emile placed his hands to his sides, issuing a short bow. “Very well, Dādā. I shall make all the information accessible to you. Let me speak to our people and they’ll set up a private channel to your program.”

  “I appreciate that, Pota.”

  Emile issued one last meek smile and then left the room. Walking down the hallway, he looked to the shining jewel on his ring. As soon as he felt like he was far enough from Pinter’s Heilig room, he turned the ring around so the jewel rested against his palm. It made no difference, really. Pinter could hear his conversation no matter which direction the ring was aimed. It did, however, make Emile feel felt better that it was no longer so apparent.

  Issuing a neural command, he activated a channel to the security office. The face of Emile’s head of security, Chaput, appeared in Emile’s visual field.

  “Doctor Chandrasekhar?”

  [Can you switch to subvocal? I don’t want anyone hearing this.]

  Chaput instantly complied. His mouth might have been closed, but his words were now being fed as a direct transmission from his neural loom. Aside from the lack of movement of the man’s lips, nothing changed. The pitch, timber, tone and even his characteristic accent were preserved.

  [What is the problem, sir?]

  [The special network you set up for us. I need you to start setting up a secure connection to Pinter immediately.]

  [Sir?]

  Emile allowed himself a brief smile. In that question, an entire conversation’s worth of doubt and recollections were implied. Were Chaput the more insubordinate sort, or someone who felt the need to say the obvious, he would have reminded Emile that the entire point of setting up said network had been to keep Pinter out of the decision-making process.

  [It seems my elder has been snooping about our network and has discovered it on his own. I need to give him access to dispel his concerns.]

  [I see, sir. Is this connection to be unfettered?]

  Emile smiled again. But this time, it held a wiliness not been present before. Chaput had a knack for knowing how to ask the right questions, a useful trait in a head of security.

  [It should appear as such, yes. Of course, I want you to migrate all the information about Doctor Lee and Amaru’s investigations to another location. Pinter need only see what I told him about. Can you do that?]

  [Of course, sir. It shouldn’t take long, provided I start right away.]

  [Very good. Do that.]

  Emile closed the channel and took a deep breath. In moments like this, it was good to know he had the right kinds of people in the right places. It almost made up for the burdensome presence of an overbearing relic which had outlived its usefulness. Someday, it would need to be addressed. In the meantime, it was enough to simply leave him in his Heilig room, letting him live out his old fantasies while the real work carried on around him.

  Circling the ring back, Emile stared into the jewel, the light gradually growing fainter.

  “One day,” he said, “I will be rid of you.”

  Part IV: Cronians

  “Beyond the rings of Saturn lies a system without enough resources to sustain a human presence in the outer Solar System indefinitely. Conversely, there are also enough resources there that, if properly used, could entirely transform the planets of the inner Solar System. But more than that, Saturn’s chief moon of Titan represents a possible testing ground for seeing how life may have evolved on Earth, and could exist on other worlds someday.”

  -Doctor David Lee, “Ruminations on the Cronian System” (2283)

  Twenty-Two

  Titan looked like a mottled marble from their current vantage point. Much like Venus, its dense atmosphere obscured all surface features. Unlike Venus, its settlements were all based on the surface, deep below the cloud cover. Deep enough their twinkling lights were unable to be seen unless you were close enough, or they spotted the surface through the occasional break in the clouds. Whereas no one dared venture into the maelstrom of the Cytherean atmosphere, here they would be descending into the cold, hydrocarbon-rich clouds in a few hours’ time.

  Ward took another sip from his cup. The coffee, mixed with a standard dose of post-hibernation restoratives, felt like pure nourishment going down. Every drop spread warmth throughout his body, slowly bringing him out of his fugue state. He was thankful for that much, having been put through hibernation for the third time in the space of a few months. But the ship’s kind Geminoid assured him he was within tolerance limits. Nothing to fear so long as he paced himself from here on out.

  One more stop, one more investigation, and he would be heading back to Mars. A clean slate, and a shot at a new life.

  Then why am I insisting on jeopardizing that? he wondered. Before going down for his cryosleep, he had reviewed Constance’s findings thoroughly. But when he had woken up, it was the first thing he checked on, solely to be sure he’d assimilated it all.

  Once more, the information seemed to fit with the official record. Doctor, Lee’s education, upbringing, non-existent disciplinary record, and his years of work with the Chandrasekhar clan: none of it appeared to be anything other than routine and straightforward, until two salient points wer
e reached. Prior to joining the others at Sarak Lovelock and dedicating himself to the Formist agenda, Lee had travelled throughout the outer Solar System extensively.

  At the far end of things, his stops had included the burgeoning Seedling settlements on Pluto, Charon and Triton. Here, amid the icy landscapes too far from the Sun to be habitable, the most advanced posthuman Factions employed machinery many orders of magnitude smaller than standard nanomachines to rework the terrain into something livable. One might draw the conclusion Doctor Lee had been inspired by that.

  On the way, there and back, he had also made stops at Titania, Oberon, Titan, Enceladus, Europa and Callisto. And along the way, he had apparently written extensive accounts of all the things he saw, the culture he had absorbed, and the particulars of these worlds. What he had to say about the locals wasn’t very endearing, but he’d also spoken at length about the natural wonders of the places themselves.

  This wasn’t something which appeared in his official dossier. Since it took place before he became part of the Formists, it wasn’t part of his official duties. Nor had he spent the time abroad working, or becoming part of the many projects taking place in the Outer Worlds. Still, there was nothing particularly surprising about it. One could easily say Lee was fulfilling a youthful sense of wanderlust not sated earlier in life, like normal people did.

  In the end, however, his writings and research notes became part of a feasibility study which he had disclosed to his colleagues at Lovelock, once he became an active member of the Formist Faction. This was the only reason Constance had been able to find it. Somewhere in the Formist archives, it had been tucked away, where she had come upon it and decided it was relevant. After assimilating the study for himself, Ward could see why.

  Leveraging the Outer Worlds

  That was the title. Consisting of terabytes of data, the thrust of Lee’s study was that the moons of the Jovian and Cronian systems could be of considerable use to the Formists someday. Not only did they possess the natural resources he and his colleagues were seeking to help them transform their own world, but they also boasted the conditions necessary to test the methods they planned to use.