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“Where’s the rest of it?” Vwannan asked.
“You’ll have to link to the appendix. The rest is there, in its entirety. I explain all of the deleterious effects in detail,” Synster replied quickly, eager for her input. “It’s quite thorough and…”
“Please stop. I can’t go on right now,” Vwannan said impatiently. “You are the herald of recombinant coma!”
“I try to give complete information.”
“I’ll read the rest later when I’m trying to fall asleep. Why don’t you just say that they’ll tolerate it until they don’t tolerate it anymore? Then they’ll get sick and die early, like we want them to.”
“I said that eventually, in so many words.”
“In too many words. Because this would have put me to sleep. You really need to engage your audience more,” Vwannan continued.
“Well, it was a vote on the issues. That’s all. It wasn’t like we needed to discuss anything. We had a question and answer period,” Synster explained.
“Sure, for those who were still awake,” Vwannan criticized.
“I had very little time to prepare. I had to make the decision about elimination of the moon. But they accepted my judgment. It is best this way, less wasted time, lower costs. I chose not to mention that the Algorithm predicted the removal was likely to cause various immediate but temporary extreme weather issues, possible minor earthquakes, and a polar ice sheet to break in half, flooding, extended global cooling and a drying period of the atmosphere for many centuries after the fact!” Synster sucked in a deep breath after his long and significant list as he rolled his eyes at the magnitude of it all.
“But I wasn’t required to divulge this, and no one asked. Besides, they are mostly fools on that committee. If I bring something new to the Project, it is their job to ask. It’s my job to make things work, to act, to get the job done. That’s why the charter is written as it is. I will not be delayed. Delay is right next to failure on these projects, and that is one of my main responsibilities.” Three days to the Contact Protocol, he was getting impatient; he had much work to do. “Do you think everything looks right?”
“I’m unsure.” She moved to take a step and after almost a century of marriage, he knew pacing meant she was about to get critical. “I think the deleterious effects are too aggressive, and this new spectral energy reading we have yet to fully qualify is disconcerting.”
Streyn arrived at his office cloak and entered. He immediately saw that Vwannan was in the room and extended his greeting. “Peace between us,” he said while moving toward her. She walked in front of him and as he leaned forward, extended her palms where he momentarily laid his right cheek, in the standard formal greeting of a married woman of her rank in the presence of her husband.
Streyn looked up as her hands retracted and she stepped back. “Ryvil was the one who moved up the meeting. Claimed he had a scheduling conflict and convinced the Project Minister that we already knew all the issues, so there was no reason to delay.”
“Did you check to see if he really had a conflict?” Synster asked.
“Yes, he did,” Streyn replied.
“He’s participating in preparations for the Contact. I hope he doesn’t have any more scheduling conflicts. Is there anything else?”
“No Synster.”
“Leave.” Synster responded.
Streyn did so quickly. Vwannan always made him nervous.
Looking at Vwannan, Synster inquired, “Please explain.”
“The deleterious effects are too greedy.” Vwannan resumed her pacing. “You’re trying to get everything you want with maximum efficiency. We know, regardless of what the Algorithm says, nature has its secrets. It has its ways of making this more difficult, or more efficient. It operates on its own agenda and circumvents our motives in ways that we cannot see. It is mystery. Providing a grain that gives them easy energy should be enough. We should determine another way to slow their technological growth. You don’t have to leave in proteins that force their genetics to express themselves in grotesque ways.
“For instance we could use the lead poisoning option. The deleterious effects are very nearly the same. The lead substitutes itself for vital minerals and creates aberrant genetic expression and immune system problems, almost exactly like the symptoms of wheat phytates sequestering minerals. We can easily put the end product through the biofilter before marketing, and it’s something they are likely to discover and correct for themselves just prior to our arrival, assuming their technology is properly tuned.”
“We can’t use lead. The biofilter treatment was unacceptable to the Union. They demand an organic product.”
“Still, the wheat grain should be cleared of these effects, much as the rice candidate is. I don’t believe the Algorithm can account for all the factors involved. You have added uncertainty, not efficiency. I don’t think they will ever reach a level of advancement that could threaten our eventual harvest.”
“But the Algorithm suggested these effects, it was not my decision.” Synster responded, looking at her and waiting. “And the unexplained energy readings, the spectral scan? What is your opinion there?”
Vwannan suddenly became thoughtful. “We really have no idea what these energy readings are. We’ve never seen them in living beings and that alone brings me caution. We have known ferocity in beings from other systems but never seen an energy reading for it. In my reasoning then, ferocity can only be associated with it, but is not its source.” She stopped her pacing, moved toward him looking more serious and lowered her tone. “We do not see all that it entails. The reading’s root source may be from something very different. We have reason to believe that there are other traits that this energy influences. The spectral reading is foreign to us.” Vwannan glared at him for a moment. “Synster, we have the Algorithm. Nothing is foreign to us. Doesn’t that concern you?”
“It does.”
“It should,” Vwannan insisted. “Of all the life forms we’ve encountered, this is the only planet where the spectral readings exist. There’s got to be something important we’re missing.”
“I agree,” replied Synster, “but until we figure it out, we need to move forward.”
“On top of all this, you are going to remove a moon from a planet. Certainly we’ve done this before but never with a living planet.”
“I’ve looked at all variables through the Algorithm and relatively little life will be destroyed. And that which would be is not in any area critical to our objec...”
“You are killing the moon of a living planet! What if life important to our requirements uses this moon for something… biological cycles, navigation, anything?” Vwannan raised her voice at him. “What if the spectral scan readings have a relationship to this moon?”
“There is no other option,” Synster could tell that her opinion was final but knew he could not change what had already been presented. “The plan has been approved. You know that.”
“And why didn’t you tell me the cloak on the front threshold wasn’t working? I couldn’t tell from the inside and I’ve been home all day with pedestrians walking by. We can’t let Provenger think we’ve opened our home to anyone who would like to wander in.”
“I meant to but I got distracted with Beyn. Vwannan, I need to go through with this plan. It’s a matter of protocol. The issues that have been decided cannot be changed.”
The project proceeded as planned with great hope through the Provenger Nation that their harvest would prove productive and profitable. Once the ground teams were established as gods among the carnate, the Provenger ship began its phase sequence to depart. As Provenger time incrementally slowed due to accelerated gravitational time dilation, time on the planet surface began to speed by.
After decades had passed on the planet and only minutes onboard ship, there were some problems on the planet surface. This was to be expected. The Provenger made their agricultural introductions in numerous locations, know
ing that some could fail. But this particular failure was very unusual.
One location was lost due to a rebellion of the carnate. This possibility had not been anticipated by the Algorithm. It led to significant apprehension among the Provenger. At the expense of much energy and at great individual risk, a rescue team was sent. Nothing could be done to save the ground team, and there were no survivors. All was lost.
In the confusion that followed, all Provenger technology that had been used at that location was either destroyed or reclaimed, accompanied by one carnate that was mistakenly transported to the Provenger Nation ship. The cause of the carnate rebellion was never discovered. Little did the Provenger know the cause was among them.
When the required gravitational supercriticality was obtained around the Provenger Nation ship, and thousands of years had passed on the planet surface, their phase completed, and the ship appeared across the galaxy at the rendezvous point with their own race. Only ten years would pass for the Provenger before their return. Over twelve thousand would pass on the planet surface.
Chapter 3
Earth, Ruin Canyon
12,893 years later
Our near future
Life brings the bold a continuous stream of surprises; this day was no different. Discovery of Indian ruins and lion attacks were not on his mind that morning as Rick Thompson parked his old Jeep Wrangler in the dark at the top of the desert mesa. Light was just barely threatening with a glow on the horizon and, even though it was not his plan to be in place before sunrise, he still wanted to get there as early as possible. He was at the eastern edge of Ruin Canyon, an aptly named gouge in the earth about 25 miles northwest of the southwestern Colorado town of Cortez. This area was known for its links to the ancient Anasazi, its ruggedness, its outlaws, and its secrets.
He wanted to make absolutely sure he had everything he’d need. He was already in the middle of nowhere and was about to go even further in. Rick reached up and disabled the interior’s dome light, opened the door, and got out of the driver’s side. He left that door open and, able to see only shades from black to gray, opened the back door to access his gear.
He didn’t want to bring too much as he had an area of cliffs to negotiate, then an even deeper descent on a slope to the bottom of the canyon. It was still dark and starting down the cliff now might be dangerous, he thought. It wasn’t really a lighting issue, though; it was a frost issue. Even though it didn’t seem that cold, especially for November, the night had brought a frost, and Rick knew from experience that almost every foot placement and handhold all the way down ran the risk of being on top of a thin layer of frost, between him and the smooth stone, every tiny crystal conspiring against his safety. Seeing it first was always helpful.
Rick had carefully packed everything the night before: water, a couple cold cooked sweet potatoes, a compass, a small first aid kit, knife, large black plastic garbage bag, a couple extra clothing layers, wool cap, a lighter, an extra magazine. Hanging around his neck, underneath his jacket, were his issued binoculars. They were much better than anything he could afford to buy on his own. He had experience with this type of thing and knew what he needed.
He put the backpack down outside the car, unzipped it, took out a sweatshirt, and considered it for a moment. It’ll probably get much warmer today. He threw it in the Jeep. One less thing to carry. He might need the extra space in his pack if he brought anything back. Next, he grabbed his rifle case, unzipped it on the back seat, and removed a full gray steel magazine from an internal pouch.
Rick picked up his rifle, an M-4 he’d had for decades, checked the selector with his thumb, and used the charging handle to let the bolt forward slowly and quietly on an empty chamber. He then clicked the magazine in place and put the rifle on his pack outside the car. He didn’t want to chamber a round before going down the cliff, and he had a method of doing it quietly along the way if he had to. He never liked climbing with a loaded weapon flopping around on his pack. If anything bad were to happen to him, he knew there wouldn’t be any help. This kind of thing was risky enough without inviting catastrophe.
Rick conducted a final personal check. He had his keys, wallet, pistol, binos, and his call was in his front left pocket. Good to go, he thought. Rick carefully and quietly closed the back passenger door. Before closing the front door, he checked for his keys in his pocket a second time and locked all the doors from the inside of the driver door and closed it quietly. He picked up his rifle and pack and moved to the cliff’s edge. It was still half dark, but his eyes had adjusted well for a fifty year old man. The sun had not yet broken the horizon. Perfect. No matter what he was doing, Rick never liked to silhouette himself at the top of a mesa against a sunlit sky.
Rick spied a medium sized rock under a bushy juniper tree and walked up beside it, just close enough so he could reach in. Without changing his footing Rick took his car keys out of his pocket, bent down, reached in, and placed them under the rock. He then made sure it didn’t look dislodged. Any impression in this desert dust could be interpreted by those who knew how, revealing the secrets of their creator’s attempts at stealth. Now, with the keys hidden, if he for some reason were to come back having lost all his gear, he’d still be able to access his keys and drive away. In addition to that, keys that aren’t with him can’t jingle and can’t be lost. Everything else on his gear was properly silenced. Being thorough and thoughtful came from his training. Taking easy precautions during potentially dangerous activities was in his nature. He was frugal with danger.
Rick looked out at the rough desert canyon and thought, this is where I belong. He was happy with his life. It was pleasant and simple. Everything just seemed to be falling into place. His only worry was his son, Carson, but he was certain he’d get better; he’d already shown signs of it.
The morning was cold with a promise of midday warmth. There was the slightest breeze coming from the south end of the canyon. Its smell was of virgin desert, piney, earthy, with the slightest fresh, musky scent of small things trying to grow on the very edge of nature’s meager desert allowance. Rick had a feeling about today. If all this maintained, he thought, hunting would be good. “Predator hunting predator, the unscripted adventure starts now,” Rick muttered to himself.
He picked his way down the cliff-side as the light of day slowly came to his aid. He worked to avoid a slip or a knock of his rifle on a rock as it shifted on his back. Reaching the gradual slope at the bottom without incident, Rick had to load. He carefully pulled the charging handle of his old M-4 all the way to the rear, then slowly let it move forward. Rick watched it pick up the top round in the magazine and guide it forward. A short distance more and the round was in the chamber. He tapped the forward assist to assure it was chambered. Barely a sound was made.
Rick picked his way down the slope toward a location where he knew of some deciduous trees growing in a ravine, an indication there might be water there. He’d seen them from a distance the last time he’d been in the canyon but hadn’t had time to thoroughly explore. He knew the general direction but would still have to feel his way as distance vision in the thick growth of pinion pine and juniper was impossible, and the light was just beginning to beat its way down the canyon walls.
Along the way, there were periodic clearings, and these enabled Rick to get his bearings and even spot the trees. They were either cottonwoods or some other kind of poplar; he wasn’t sure. Before he made it to those trees, he came across an area in a small clearing that was littered with broken pottery. It was the design painted pottery refuse from an ancient Indian dump, thrown there perhaps a thousand years before. And now it was an old garbage dump protected from plunder by federal law. Still, when Rick saw an exceptionally pretty piece with an unusual zigzag design, he picked it up and put it in his pocket. Since these dumps were usually downhill of ruins he headed back uphill at a diagonal from where he’d been.
He pressed through more trees and was confronted with the ruins of a considerable settle
ment. He walked up the slope and around them. Before him was possibly a half acre of stone, all moved there for the purpose of creating buildings for some society that existed long ago. Rick had read about these people. They probably hunted and farmed. Then at some point the area grew too dry, the crops failed year after year, and people either starved or left. Then their buildings fell down.
Rick had heard stories from a local that, almost a hundred years ago before the 1950’s, boys would go out to the area at or near Hovenweep National Monument, now a preserved ruin site nearby, and have a little fun by knocking down the towers and walls of the ancient Indian dwellings with their trucks.
Rick wondered if these in front of him had been knocked down by vandals. The way the stone walls seemed to have flopped on their side and sunken deep in the earth, he doubted they’d been pushed over any time in the last couple hundred years. Maybe the vandals that destroyed these walls were the people that came to eat the people who lived here.
Primal Estate: The Candidate Species Page 3
