Thrive Earth Return (Thrive Colony Corps Space Adventures Book 1)

by Ginger Booth

  “So you’re at a standoff. Well done.”

  “In what possible universe?”

  Ben smiled gently, remembering Remi a few years ago in a similar predicament. Due to the same captain’s mistakes as well. “Breathe. Calm. Ninety percent of leadership is confidence.”

  “I’m fresh out. I have no idea what to do next. I am the absolute wrong person for this.”

  “You are a highly regarded officer in the Colony Corps, and a superior engineer,” Ben refuted this. “And as an engineer, you know that problems have many possible solutions. Leadership is always that kind of problem. You are the perfect leader to do X. You have all of your skills and experience to drawn on, which are huge, and a winning personality. You also have your crew, and they were carefully selected for this mission.”

  “But I flew us straight into a trap!”

  “Today? No. You did that yesterday,” Ben pointed out, trying to be kind. “Under Clay’s orders. Dust across the regolith.” His English prof said the saying used to be water under the bridge. Mahina had more dust. “Today your captors merely relocated you. Don’t rehash the past. Save the post-mortem until you’re dead. What can you do now?”

  “Nothing! My panic button is blocked by –”

  “Stop. You can always do something. You can reassure the crew. You can walk around the ship and ask each person how it’s going, what they’re up to, and leave him feeling a little better. You can update your allies on your status. See, you’re doing that right now. You can seek advice. Another gold star, you’re doing that too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology not accepted. You’re a prisoner in your ship. But your ship is perfectly safe and comfortable, yes?”

  Grudgingly, Darren considered that. “Yes. Our hostages, guests, whatever – they’re going through withdrawal. Addiction. But the doc has that in hand, I think.”

  “Leave that to Liam,” Ben encouraged. “And are you receiving demands from your captors?”

  “I decided to call you before answering any more hails.”

  “Capital choice! Because if a conversation is bound to be tricky, you need to decide first which way to steer it.”

  “I – Huh?”

  Before he set off on Sass’s quest to find Sanctuary, Darren was the top civil engineer at Mahina Actual, their capital. “You’re an engineer. You’re about to pitch a twenty-million credit renovation proposal. You know what their top three reservations are going to be. What do you do?”

  “I address each of those concerns in my presentation.” Darren blinked. “Oh. So in this case… Yeah, I still can’t guess what my captors want.”

  “Not entirely true,” Ben suggested. “They want to know how you got to Earth. Where the Aloha system is, and any other habitable worlds. And they want to pick your brain on your technology. You don’t want to give them any of that. You don’t want to give them your bodies as hostages against Sass. So what can you give them? Because if all you’re thinking about is what you don’t want?”

  The beleaguered engineer sighed. “Right. Bad sales technique. I have … I don’t want to give them me.”

  “Hell no,” Ben agreed. “You know too much sensitive tech. Bet you could even point out Aloha and Sanctuary’s stars in the sky.”

  “Not from Baikonur. Aloha is in the southern hemisphere. Sanctuary would set before Aloha rises.”

  The commandant chuckled. “Yeah, you’re not leaving that ship if you can help it. But is that true of your entire staff?” He gave the other a moment to reflect. “Your doctor was chosen because he doesn’t do nanites. Kaol? Good man at your back. But the only tech he’s mastered is sonic defense against dinosaurs.”

  “Kaol’s not that bad.” But Darren’s brain began to disengage from self-flagellation and find traction along this new heading. “Zelda, atmospheric terraformer, her…fourth open-air world. That’s valuable, and we’re happy to share it all. Porter, agronomy, same. Eli…probably knows too much.”

  Ben shrugged. “He’s a botanist. Talk plants to him, and he won’t venture an opinion outside his field. And your guests? Are they keepers, or could you offer them?”

  “I don’t know,” the engineer admitted. Ben waited him out, until he added, “It’s useful to ask them questions. I’m not married to keeping them. But they might manage comms past our shields. Spy on us.”

  Ben tipped his head, considering. “I took one in. Rover, from Mars One. We’re here to open a dialogue. He’s not allowed near anything sensitive, and we’ve got his comms blocked. But if you need to take some risks.”

  Darren nodded. “I’ll hold onto them lightly. Give them up if need be, unharmed. If I drop the shields even for an instant, they can fire through at us.”

  “Your hull is no eggshell,” Ben pointed out. “Or you could project the ESD to ground –”

  Darren slapped his own forehead in self-recrimination. “Of course, I’m an idiot!”

  “Don’t do that. You’d have thought of it. When you relaxed a little.” Ben continued baby-stepping him through his next choices, taking inventory of his assets – including one hell of a ship’s engineer – until the man seemed if not calm, at least resolved and with a plan.

  Leading through waldos, by supervising captains and officers on other ships whom he couldn’t directly help, was still new and awkward terrain. And Thrive’s lack of a qualified pilot posed a serious constraint. “If I can do anything else for you, call me. Even just to blow off steam. If you can think of any auto-pilot programs you need, I can get them to you. One pointer – that escape button. Even if you’re going Mach 5 in the wrong direction, the auto-pilot can take it from there. But you got this.”

  Darren sighed, and swallowed. “Time to face the music.”

  “With your own goals firmly in mind,” Ben stressed. “And if all else fails…hang up on them.” He gave a big forced grin.

  “You do that?”

  “Absolutely. Works a treat. Go grab a drink, cool off, think things through. And then I call back, and the other guy’s beet red and furious. There are downsides.”

  Darren was still keyed up enough to chuckle. But at least he laughed. Ben signed off, sat back, and sighed deeply.

  Luna. He’d flattered his new hire long enough. Time to harvest a crop.

  When he rejoined Rover in the hold, the kid was now nervously monitoring two extruders. Judging by his chief engineer’s eyes, Remi was pleased enough with his performance and teasing him now. Ben dunked a foam uptake hose a little more securely, crossed his arms on his chest, and began.

  “What did Groot ask you to do on my ship?”

  Rover stiffened, and almost dropped a controller. When he had both remotes back under firm control – Ben or Remi would have set them aside – he stammered, “I am to make myself ingratiating to the captain, and obey him in all things, sir. Sar.”

  “And report back? To Luna?”

  The kid blanched. “No sar! I wouldn’t do that, sar! I want to be a reliable crewman! Skilled and useful and a credit to my people!”

  “So I’ll come shopping for green Martian recruits more often?” Ben quipped. “Bit of a hike. And we’ve got eager young idiots back home. This is kind of a good job, you know. I get other applicants.” Thrive Inc. never lacked for stellar workers begging to sign on. Free housing, food, and nanites were a major draw, and crew quickly became family.

  “Sir, yes, sar. Cap. Um.”

  “Mars wants us to take an interest,” Ben suggested.

  “Yes, thank you. We need you. We’re owned by Luna. But they don’t help! And we need help.” His reddened face dropped to look at his toes. “My orders were to find something, anything we can do for you. And I’d tell you! Not sneak behind your back!”

  “That works,” the captain encouraged. “I’m eager for your input. And Luna? Tell me about them. How many people on Luna?”

  Under probing, Rover imagined the number closer to four million than a quarter million, but Ben doubted anyone on Mars real
ly knew. Groot was the only Martian alive who’d visited the Moon cities, when he was no older than Rover.

  Ben interrupted a fanciful second-hand retelling of the awesomeness of a dome city. “And what exactly do they do for Earth? You said Loonies and Earthlings travel back and forth. But why?”

  “Luna makes stuff Earth can’t. Um, controllers. I guess their low gravity and extra vacuum help?”

  “Nanofabs,” Remi remarked from his steel printer, eavesdropping in interest.

  Ben had been thinking along the same lines. Not long ago, the two of them spent time trapped in the nanofab of an airless asteroid. Microelectronics fabrication required exquisite dust control in a ‘clean room.’ But for nanocircuitry any stray gas molecule could introduce errors. The vacuum of space, and more perfect crystalline substrates grown in microgravity, offered major advantages.

  “What do they control? These controllers precious enough to fly to the Moon for?” In his experience, finding inter-world cargo worth hauling was no mean feat even with his advantages.

  “Smart walls?” Rover explained. “Like your computer desktop, except they use walls. And implants. Rich Loonies and Earthlings, they’re like telepathic. They speak mind to mind, or to the ‘data wave,’ their computers. And Groot says the implants control the people, too. I mean, not like this.” Rover waved his extruder control wand. “But like rewards and punishments, and social…recognition?” His face scrunched up. “Would that really control a grownup? Getting yanked around by some other jerk’s opinion?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Ben returned. “I don’t get it either. But they covered it in college. Real problem in Earth history. Some claimed ‘social media’ was a major cause of the collapse when the Northern League seized power. And we’ve seen mind control in the colonies. It’s real.”

  Rover complained, “But it makes them cyborgs, doesn’t it? And they fought a war against cyborgs. Then they make themselves into the enemy. I don’t get it.”

  Remi mused, “Sensitive to signal interruption.”

  Rover nodded his head as though he’d ratchet it off. “I bet I know the wavelengths, too!”

  Ben and Remi stared at him. “Why would you know that?”

  The boy gulped. “Forbidden wavelengths. I know all the comms protocols. That’s why I was the one who answered when you called. It’s a hobby. I eavesdrop. Not that we get much signal out here.”

  Ben thumbed his comm. “Floki, you available? Please report to the hold.”

  “Is that the ostrich?” Rover asked, looking scared.

  The commandant grinned. “Emu. And Lenka is a mink. Don’t worry. Floki’s probably the nicest person on the ship.”

  Remi noted, “Lenka talks to Enka – Fidget.” Their mink’s twin sister was with Sass.

  Ben nodded slightly to acknowledge the point, but didn’t wish to pursue it in Rover’s hearing. From the loft several stories above, the big bird launched to float down to them on his internal gravity generator, flapping silly little wings along the way. “Do you have any trustworthy contacts on Luna, Rover? Someone you talk to by radio?”

  “I got a friend who calls. I don’t know about trustworthy. He sends me music, but his taste is weird. An Earthling at the Artemis Institute.”

  A spy, Ben suspected, keeping tabs on Mars while on assignment to Luna. “Good to know. Tell Floki all about comms protocols. Floki, pay special attention to forbidden bandwidth.”

  The bird stepped forward diffidently and squatted down to gaze into the boy’s face. “I’m all ears.”

  If the emu had ears, they were well hidden. Ben grinned. He touched Rover’s shoulder and left the kid stammering to the inexplicable bird. While he and Remi drew aside to discuss what might be possible if one pulled the plug on Earth’s data wave addicts. And how they might accomplish that.

  Maybe Ben’s team could help Sass’s after all.

  32

  Japan, a Northern League ‘winner,’ proved masterful at collecting up devastated regions and applying a thin illusion of effective bureaucracy. It gained dominion over most of Asia.

  Napping wasn’t enough, Sass thought sadly, as they trudged the beautiful entrance to Hakone from the shuttle. The weary trip from Pontiac took 13 long hours, to deposit them here in mid-afternoon by the local sun. They parted with their vehicle from Pontiac at Yokohama, or perhaps Tokyo, now a vast dome complex built atop floating rubbish heaps. They boarded a small Japanese shuttle to approach the League stronghold in the nearby mountains.

  Melkor had explained the Japanese strictly controlled ‘gaijin’ travel. Gaijin, ‘outside-people,’ were not permitted to mingle, or ‘pollute,’ in Japan. Though their notion of who constituted a native had expanded somewhat, to include elites from China and Korea down to the southeast Asian island chains. An insular folk, Sass surmised.

  The hushed and shapely concrete approach tunnel led to a clump of men in samurai armor and silly two-pointed hats. They even wore high socks tied with rope continuing down to form sandals. Sass assumed the costumes were ceremonial, some kind of living art. The trio made to walk on by.

  Then one lurched, drawing his katana sword and slicing it downward across their path. “Hyah!”

  The newcomers halted and drew back a pace, while the samurai held forth in Japanese.

  Sass tried holding the mink to her ear. Fidget mournfully reported that yes, he spoke Japanese, but he made no sense. She translated a few flowery words of poetry, allegory, or metaphor, until Sass patted her and shifted her head to stop. She agreed with the verdict – he made no sense.

  Apparently Melkor understood someone, perhaps speaking implant to implant. He waited for the period-piece actor to wind down his spiel, then bowed to him, then Sass. “I leave you here. He says the spirits find mosaics such as mine offensive. I must stay in the hall of aliens. I can rejoin you by smart wall during your interview, masked.”

  “This is rude of them,” Clay murmured. “An insult you do not deserve.”

  Melkor’s bulbous fish-eyes flicked toward the samurai and back, then he lidded his eyes.

  Sass found his fish parts repulsive as hell, yet she laid a hand on his shoulder. Human was human. “We thank you for your kindnesses. I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

  The diplomat’s eyes widened, but he said nothing, merely bowed to them again and reversed back up the corridor they’d just come down.

  The lead samurai barked at Sass and Clay. They stared at him, then Sass shot a pointed look at Melkor’s retreating back. “We don’t understand you. Melkor was our translator and guide.”

  The head honcho barked further. One of the other samurai turned slightly and raised a hand to shield his signals. With his other hand, he mimed walking-fingers, then pointed to continue up the corridor.

  At first hesitantly, Sass stepped ahead. The lead guy’s antics advanced to chest thumping, then raising both fists toward the ceiling to declaim challenge. This was possibly directed at the gods, since he wasn’t looking at the offworlders. The second samurai winked at her and wiggled walking fingers again.

  Mercifully, they left samurai behind as they emerged onto a graveled pathway, glassed above, through an inner atrium of Japanese garden. Next they seemed to stroll a covered wooden veranda, then a path of a subtly different shade of gray gravel, the surrounding offices and buildings well-shielded by artful shrubbery and babbling brooks. Through this greenhouse garden, many scurried, dressed also in archaic Japanese kimonos topped with sculpted dark hair, both male and female.

  “Like a Meiji reconstruction theme park,” Clay mused.

  Sass had no idea what a Meiji was. The poor girl from Upstate knew nothing whatsoever about Japan. But the flowered silk kimono on the women, and the darker silks on the men, were beautiful. Their hair was a different story. The funky loops appeared waxed to stay put, including the men’s bald pates, as though they’d been scalped. And the women stabbed long hair pins through their multi-lobed hair buns, with dangly bits. One favored neon pompom ornaments
with googly eyes.

  Each time they reached a fork in the paths, a woman stepped forward to quietly point them in the right direction. At least, Sass hoped they were officials being helpful, instead of random locals making fun of lost tourists.

  The throng suddenly thinned after one such turn. Here the path passed through living grass. Sass breathed deep of the fragrance as they bruised tender blades with their footfalls. Her farm once grew hay grass, but tender young grass smelled different. She drifted through wafts of other enticing flower scents, some she couldn’t name.

  A woman appeared just steps ahead, having clambered out of a squat little wooden playhouse, pagoda-shaped. Her hair was black, so at first Sass took her for young, but her face was knitted with wrinkles, accentuated by caked makeup several shades paler than her warm skin-tone. She beamed a suspicious smile, and clapped her hands loudly. “Sass-san! And Clay-san! Welcome to Hakone!”

  She bowed. They bowed.

  “Ah! Kawaii!!!” she squealed. She clapped her hands again in delight, staring at Fidget. “A gift for me?”

  The mink hastily hid her head in Sass’s ear. “Kawaii means cute.”

  Sass stroked her fur reassuringly. “No, Fidget is my companion. She’s very shy.”

  The woman, a few inches shorter than the captain, reached out to stroke the robo-pet. Fidget prudently decided to obey Sass and leapt to Clay for safety, immediately clambering to the back of his broad shoulders.

  Disappointed by the mink, the women nevertheless breathed deep and eyed the model-grade Clay from toe to head, lingering at points of interest at groin and chest and face. “Kawaii!”

  “Excuse me, we don’t know your name,” Sass interrupted this rapture. “Or if you are the person we’re supposed to meet here?”

  The woman sobered abruptly. “I am Ueno Aimi, Medium of Hakone. Like the zoo!” She giggled. Sass had no idea why.

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Aimi,” Sass attempted.