“The bright blue flame was, however, clearly visible as an indigo dagger in the daytime sky that soon became a bright violet dot seen fading over the period of the next five hours. The Earth military tracked the Ark as best it could, but did not pursue. It was reasoned there would be no way to capture it without disabling the engines or destroying it completely. Either way, it would not be possible to return it to Earth in any condition to be useful for anything other than scrap.”
“The best tracking data revealed the ship was heading in the general direction of Alpha Centauri. All attempts to contact the Ark from Earth were unsuccessful. It appeared those aboard had made the decision to abandon Earth and never return.”
“The Earth government immediately confiscated anything of value left behind by the creators and used their deception as an excuse to severely curtail all forms of capitalistic enterprise. Before long, all private ownership of land and other forms of personal wealth gave way to imminent domain. However, the redistribution of wealth did not change the downward spiral Earth found itself on.”
“Chamberlain and his followers had been correct about one thing. The Earth could no longer support a population as large as the one it had in the mid-22nd century. Over the next twenty years, almost a third of the Earth’s population succumbed to starvation and disease. Approximately another one-quarter of the population opted for euthanasia.”
“According to anecdotal evidence, about halfway to its destination, the Ark had achieved a velocity of 0.62c. The survey ships had departed and were well on their way to the other two planets under consideration when the primary computer system that controlled everything on the Ark started to report errors in most of the ship’s systems.”
“One of the three reactors immediately went offline and started its permanent shutdown sequence. Before the crew could intervene and prevent the shutdown, the computer’s artificial intelligence permanently locked and fused the fuel couplings so the reactor could not be restarted.”
“With only two reactors remaining, the Ark’s velocity dropped to below 0.4c. There also was insufficient energy available to power a large percentage of the cryonic stasis chambers, forcing an early revival of many colonists. Options were weighed and it was determined no matter what, returning to Earth was out of the question. From that point on, whatever the creators did would have to be with the intention of settling on Terra Nova, as they now called it, firmly in mind.”
“The survey ships were redirected to Alpha Centauri A IV. Shortly after their mid-course correction burn, communication with the farthest vessel was lost. That ship has never been located and the two-hundred aboard were never heard from again.”
“On the third of December, 2174, a little over fourteen years after leaving Earth, the Ark was parked in geosynchronous orbit around Alpha Centauri IV. It was there the creators made their plans to conquer this planet, now called Terra Nova, the New World. The voyage, which was more or less a comedy of errors, has since become known as Chamberlain’s Folly.”
“So,” the Historian asked after turning off the tablet. “From what I just read and what you may have heard from other sources, do you believe these people were evil, or do you think they were acting out of desperation? And, even if desperate, was their solution a reasonable course of action, given their circumstances?”
He looked around the room to gauge any feedback. Some of the human cadets looked as if they were uncomfortable addressing the question, but most of the felines in the class raised their hands. The Historian called on a female feline cadet to answer.
“Colonel, Sir. From what I have been told in the past, I cannot truthfully say I believe these people had the best of intentions. Nor do I believe their motives were completely unselfish,” she answered. “But, in my heart, I cannot call them evil.”
“Ah,” Zheng said. “It looks as if you have given it some thought. Please identify yourself, Cadet.”
“My ceremonial name is She Who Pounces on the Bison While They Drink the Still Water, Colonel, Sir,” she stated. “I am referred to as Still Water for convenience’s sake. May I also add I especially enjoyed today’s lecture because General Morning Grass was my ancestor.”
The Historian reeled from his second big surprise of the day provided by a member of this freshman class.
“So, Cadet Still Water,” he asked. “Other than the obvious, what is it that makes you want to give these humans the benefit of the doubt? They left their home world in dire straits under false pretenses, invaded a neighboring planet struggling to recover from a massive solar event that almost wiped it out, and used genetic engineering in all sorts of hideous ways. Of course, their actions eventually led to some good. You are living proof of that. But, in all, what is left to say in their defense?”
Still Water was painfully aware the rest of the class was looking directly at her. She finally asked the Historian in a meek voice, uncharacteristic for a feline, “Colonel, Sir? If you were trapped by the same circumstances, what would you do?”
The Historian smiled. “That is an excellent question, Cadet Still Water,” he said. “And, it is one those who rewrite history to suit their own purposes should ask themselves before making worse mistakes than those people they wish to vilify.”
Chapter 6
7-October-2409
It was a late afternoon just before the middle of the term. The Historian had dismissed his last class for the day and was in a hurry to collect his things from the lecture hall and head to his office. He was eager to start his research into the latest archives that had been sent to him by the Bureau of Historical Sciences. It was especially exciting for the Historian when he was able to examine the private communications and personal logs of civilian and military craft from that period.
Even though he was often at odds with many of the Bureau’s policies, he had struck an unofficial agreement with the Bureau that had turned out to be advantageous to both parties.
As per the agreement, the Bureau would sometimes send the Historian memory cards with recorded archives and document files for his review. Often times this was because the items were locked or encrypted and he was especially adept at breaking the pass codes and locks on such items.
He would promptly send anything back to the Bureau related to topics deemed by the League of Aligned Planets’ Central Government to be of a sensitive nature. He also would include his personal assessment of the material involved. He also agreed not to discuss such material with anyone outside the Bureau.
In return, anything not considered sensitive was available for him to use in updating and revising his text and to publish for general consumption, with only minimal editing privileges kept by the Bureau’s directorate.
On this day, however, the Historian was anxiously awaiting something being sent without the expressed permission of the Bureau.
The Historian turned off his tablet and put on his coat. He shut down the holographic environment generator and headed for the door at the back of the hall. Once he was outside the door he was greeted by a cadet; a female human from the senior class.
“Colonel Zheng, Sir,” the cadet said as she saluted, waited for the Historian to return the salute and then stood at rest. “I have something in my possession I would like you to see. I believe it may be of special interest to you.”
The Historian smiled at her.
“I would be thrilled to look at what you have, Cadet Zheng,” he said. “Meet me in my office in twenty minutes.”
The Historian was fond of his only grandchild. She was the daughter of his middle son and almost as interested in historical research as he was. She was due to ship out after this term, so any opportunity presenting itself for him to spend time with her before she left was taken without hesitation.
He opened the office door and hung up his coat. He put his tablet in a desk drawer, and locked it. His office had a fireplace, but no fire, so he pulled some kindling from the crate just to the right of the hearth and piled it on the grate. He pressed a
nd held a button mounted on the wall above the crate. A flame shot up from under the grate and caused the kindling to slowly ignite.
Once the fire was fully started he took his hand off the button and tossed a couple larger logs on the fire. He then went to a corner of the office near one of the bay windows overlooking the large common area behind the History Building.
There was a small supply cabinet there with an antique coffee maker on top. He unlocked one drawer and removed a permanent filter. He unlocked another drawer, pulled out a small bag of freshly roasted coffee beans and a grinder. He ground enough of the beans for four cups of coffee and put them in the filter. He then put the filter in the coffee-maker, added some water and turned it on.
Almost instantly the office filled with the enticing aroma. The Historian truly loved Earth-grown coffee. He had been drinking it since he was a cadet.
The knock on the door came just a few seconds earlier than the agreed upon twenty minutes. He opened it to see his granddaughter standing there with an enthusiastic smile.
“Senior Cadet Emily Zheng reporting as ordered, Sir,” she blurted out. She then saluted and walked in holding a small parcel. He could see she was freezing.
“My Heavens,” he exclaimed. “Did you have to run all the way back to your dorm in this weather just to get that?”
“No problem,” Emily interjected. “I’m just as excited to see what’s in there as you are.”
The Historian offered her a seat and poured them both a cup of coffee. She took her cup, refused his offer of cream and sugar, and handed the parcel to him.
“So, Colonel,” Emily asked, still shivering after her first sip of the hot coffee. “How do you enjoy having an upper caste Ekkidan in your freshman class? He seems to be quite a popular subject among the upper-classmen.”
“Oh, really,” The Historian asked back.
Emily nodded in the affirmative.
“He is most definitely aro,” the Historian said. “But, he seems to have an uncommonly humble attitude. I was concerned at first he may have been playing some sort of angle, but as the term has progressed, I am finding his humility may indeed be genuine.”
“Well, he is certainly finding a following among the freshmen,” Emily said. “Especially among the females. He’s rich and comes from a particularly powerful family. What more could a girl want?”
“Please don’t drool on my office floor, Cadet,” the Historian requested. “I just mopped it.”
He then scratched his head with his free hand.
“What puzzles me is why an aro would feel the need to leave the home world and train to be a soldier,” he said to his attentive granddaughter. “What about military training and service could possibly appeal to a young man who by birthright was raised to be a politician, bureaucrat, industrialist or even a jurist? I can understand why an azo might come here. Get through the Space Medicine program at this academy and you can get into any medical school in the aligned worlds.”
“Speaking of the Ekkidans,” Emily interjected. “Have you gotten either them or the Bureau of Historical Sciences to budge on giving you access to their official archives?”
“Not yet,” The Historian replied. His countenance darkened appreciably. “I don’t hold much hope, either. You know as well as I do Director Cozeremi doesn’t look upon my political views too favorably.”
“I didn’t mean to spoil the mood,” Emily said. “Forget I mentioned it. Anyway, didn’t you tell me what is in that box might make a difference?”
The Historian looked down at the package as if he had forgotten he was holding it. He laid the box on his desk and asked, “Cadet? Are you not concerned your fellow classmates might consider you somewhat of a ‘teacher’s pet’ for hanging around here so often and bringing me so many gifts?”
Emily smiled and asked in return, “Was it Confucius or Sun Tsu who said, ‘the fox that has stolen chickens from your hen house will die from an arrow through the heart no more quickly than the one that just stands at the door and watches’?”
“Actually,” the Historian said. “I believe it may have been Mark Twain, or Will Rogers. Hell, it could have been one of the Marx Brothers for that matter. I can never remember...”
“Anyway,” Emily said, interrupting before her grandfather’s reply could get any sillier. “My point is I really don’t care about appearances or what the other cadets are thinking. I know better. Besides, I would expect you would be the one that had to worry about the appearance of favoritism. What do your colleagues think?”
“First of all,” the Historian asked. “What leads you to believe you are one of my favorites?”
Emily couldn’t hold back her laughter.
“Even though you’ve been an obsequious prat ever since you arrived,” the Historian continued. “By my reckoning you fall well outside my top ten. I will concede ‘Honorable Mention’ status, though.”
“Honorable Mention? Wow,” Emily mused, feigning appreciation for the back-handed complement. “Fat lot of good it did me in History 301.”
“You are a hard one to teach,” the Historian remarked. “Thank Heaven for extra credit. I’m relieved I didn’t need to fail you. I’d have never been able to explain it to your father’s satisfaction. He says, ‘Hello,’ by the way. You should write him about the plans for Graduation Week. He wants to be here for the ceremony, at least.”
Emily smiled at her grandfather and held her left hand out, palm up. She then took her right index finger, touched it to her tongue and started tracing lines and circles in her left palm as if writing a note. As soon as Zheng started looking annoyed, she tapped the middle of her palm sharply as if punctuating the end of her note and put both hands down on the arms of her chair.
“Now, where was I,” the Historian asked after the somewhat juvenile indication from his granddaughter she would carry out his request. “Ah, yes, I remember. We were discussing your deportment.”
Emily smiled as she picked up her cup of coffee to take another sip.
The Historian leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and stared into space. After a few seconds of what looked like deep contemplation, he said, “I think you could learn a thing or two from Cadet Pedersen.”
Emily choked on her coffee and sat straight up in her chair. “Please tell me you are not comparing me to that exorbitantly endowed goldenrod, Gabrielle Pedersen,” she hissed. She then looked around the desk for something to throw at him.
“Oh. What’s wrong with Cadet Pedersen,” the Historian asked, still with his hands behind his head, staring dreamily into space. “I find her to be bright, respectful, prompt… She’s a model student and cadet.”
Emily winced. “My Heavens, Colonel,” she shot back, frustrated at not yet finding an object to hurl in his direction. “Surely you can’t be talking about Grabby Gabi, a.k.a. Perky Pedersen the Pedagogue Pouncer?”
“Pedagogue Pouncer? Really now,” the Historian countered, completely undisturbed by the sudden chill from his granddaughter. “I know she is rather eager to impress her instructors, but…”
“Eager?” Emily cried. “The felines have given her the ceremonial name She Who Seeks Extra Credit by any Means Imaginable. You sure as Hell don’t want me to tell you what they shorten it to. It’s not a passive adjective phrase…”
Before Emily could elaborate, the Historian interrupted her. “Now, Cadet Zheng, those are only rumors. And besides, I hear she was instrumental in the digitization of some old blueprints for the archives,” he said. “The Structural Engineering department told me they felt privileged to have her as a work study.”
Emily giggled and said, “Those old perverts studied her structure while she worked, alright.”
The Historian looked at her and without breaking a smile, asked, “What do you mean?”
Emily looked her grandfather directly in the eye. “You know full well the digitization of those blueprints was finished years ago,” she said.
The Historian feigned innocenc
e.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she continued. “For the whole term right before she arrived, they would turn up the heat…”
“She’s cold-natured,” the Historian interjected.
“Then, they would pull dozens of prints out of the cabinets and just lay them on the scanning table,” Emily told him.
She hesitated to see if Zheng would try and supply a reasonable explanation. He just shrugged as if he was missing her point.
“And finally,” Emily stated in a tone indicating this part of the story was particularly offensive to her. “They had her take the prints and re-file them, one by one. Gabi kept complaining it was so hot in there she couldn’t keep her jacket on over her tunic…”
The Historian blushed.
“I’ll explain,” he said with as much conviction as he could arouse in himself. “Sometimes it’s necessary to employ a cadet at busy work to teach him or her to remain focused and attentive to detail on a repetitive task under harsh circumstances. Take guard duty, for instance…”
“Oh, please,” Emily fired back with daggers in her eyes. “They kept pulling the prints from the bottom drawers. They’re more familiar with her bowsprits and aft section than her family doctor.”
“Cadet Zheng,” the Historian asked in the most authoritarian voice he could muster. “Are you suggesting members of the faculty of this fine military academy would take advantage of the youth and enthusiasm of a cadet to advance their prurient interests?”
Emily looked him square in the eye and answered, “Oh Hell yes, Sir. Colonel, Sir. You bet your ass I am… Sir.”
Chamberlain's Folly (The Terra Nova Chronicles) Page 5
