Nightborn, page 3
It was dropping low enough now that details of the hull could be seen. Then its parachutes opened, and magnificent blooms of color filled the sky as thrusters labored to slow its descent even more. The landing struts began to unfold from their storage bays in the module’s underbelly, preparing for touchdown. Then the ground beneath Leo’s feet began to shake. For a moment he thought it was just from the force of the thrusters. But no, the ground was actually shaking. Then he realized what must be happening.
Shit.
They hadn’t trained for earthquakes in Orientation, because they hadn’t expected to settle on a planet where they were a major problem. So what was he supposed to do now? Lie down on the top of this hill? Run somewhere else? What about the landing? The module’s thrusters had increased their output, slowing its descent even more, and for a few impossible seconds it seemed to hang motionless in the air. But such vehicles weren’t designed to hover, and it wouldn’t remain stable for long.
He turned to Josh and demanded, “What’s happening?”
The engineer was scrolling through data on his tablet. “The ground’s moving, so the sensors can’t get a clean fix on it. Which means the landing sequence won’t initiate.” He tapped a few controls, then cursed under his breath when the module failed to respond.
They could lose it all now. If the module crashed, it would take the colony’s most valuable supplies with it—along with their dreams of an easy settlement.
But the tremors were diminishing now, and Josh’s fingers continued to race over his tablet as he wrestled with the module’s data, trying to convince the thing to land. And after what seemed like an eternity, the streams of fire that were holding the craft aloft finally began to diminish. Leo held his breath as the module began to descend again, and not until all the landing struts were solidly on the ground and the thrusters had gone dark did he dare to release it.
There was silence for a moment. They all stood there, too stunned to speak, as the significance of the landing hit home.
“We made it.” Relief echoed in Lise’s voice. “We’re safe.”
“We’re home.” Joshua spread his arms wide and grinned. “This is home.”
Lise took Leo’s hand in hers. She was one of the very few people who knew why he had come here, why the sights and smells of Earth triggered such painful memories for him. Now he would never have to deal with them again. “A fresh start,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. Hopefully he could leave the ghosts of Earth behind and enjoy it.
He swallowed thickly and nodded, squeezed her hand in return, then started down the hill to inspect the module. The others followed.
The ground, for now, was steady.
Sunset was a vivid wound in the sky, a crimson gash flanked by bruised purple clouds. Here and there the final rays of sunlight reflected from a cloud’s belly, a brief flare that quickly faded as its source dropped lower in the sky. There were sunsets like this on Earth, but they were rare enough that most of the colonists had never seen one; the display seemed alien to them, a reminder of just how far from Earth they had come.
Tia watched it all numbly, trying to feel something other than emptiness. Maybe it would be easier if people would just leave her alone with her sorrow. But she’d made the mistake of saying earlier in the day that sunset would probably be spectacular, and now that she’d been proven right, everyone was coming to her for an explanation of why. And they came in small groups, so she had to repeat the story again and again: how the ship’s surveillance drones had recorded a major volcanic eruption several hundred miles west of them the week before, and how that would fill the sky with particulate matter for a while, which would make sunsets spectacular.
“Look!” someone cried, pointing east.
The heart of the galaxy was visible now, its core like a second sun rising to challenge the first. Though it lacked the power to light the sky or warm the planet the way the real sun did, it was a riveting sight nonetheless. And nothing like this had ever happened back on Earth.
Tia felt no wonder.
She should have been standing beside Michael right now, his arm around her as they gazed at the wonderful display together, celebrating the alien moment and all it signified for them and their future. Now all that was gone. Stolen from her by the gods of random fortune, somewhere in the darkness between the stars. All that was left in her heart was emptiness, a hole so black and terrible it seemed her soul would be sucked down into it. If she could, she would tear her heart from her chest and cast it away into the night. At least that would end the pain.
As the core finally cleared the horizon, Leo climbed to the top of a rocky prominence so that all could see him, and he cried out, “Your attention, please!” After a pause he added with a grin, “Just for a few minutes, I promise!”
One by one the colonists turned toward him, then began to gather around his makeshift podium. Tia stayed at the periphery of the crowd, not wanting to come into physical contact with anyone. Finally, when everyone was within hearing distance, the colony commander spread his arms wide. “Obviously the workday is now over.” Applause and laughter rippled through the crowd. “An auspicious start to our project. You all know what tents you’re assigned to, and what teams you’ll be working with tomorrow, so I won’t take up any time going over that. But I do want to remind everyone of a few basics.
“First, remember: there is no such thing as garbage here. The materials we brought with us are all we have. Someday our colony will be able to manufacture polymers and alloys and all the other trappings of a technological civilization, but we’ll probably run out of Terran materials long before we get to that point. So if you break a jar, save the pieces. If you blow your nose on a scrap of cloth, rinse it out and reuse it. If a device breaks down—as all of our devices eventually will—make sure every part is saved.” He gestured toward the grasslands beyond the encampment. “Marian’s team will be gathering up the grass as we clear it, to turn into hygienic supplies. Yes, they’ll be scratchy but disposable. Meanwhile a latrine area will be set up to compost waste; please follow the instructions posted. And if nature calls when you can’t get there . . .” A dry smile flickered. “Please bury your offerings. For the sake of your neighbors, if not the environment.”
“Second . . .” He drew in a deep breath. “Don’t leave camp alone, please. We don’t know what kind of venomous animals or insects may live in the area, and if you’re stung or bitten, you may need someone to help you get home. So let’s stick with the buddy system for now, at least until we have the local flora and fauna catalogued.”
He paused. “Lastly, if you see anything unusual—anything that just doesn’t seem right—I want to hear about it right away. No matter how trivial it seems. Tell your team leaders about it, and they’ll pass the information on to me. All right?”
There was a sea of nods, thumbs-up, and OK signs.
“Good.” He raised up his hands as if in benediction. “In accordance with the terms we agreed to back on Earth, I hereby name this world Erna, to honor the woman whose financing made this trip possible. And since we’ve decided to keep Earth’s weekly schedule, I also officially declare this to be Monday. Today’s work is done. Go. Enjoy yourselves.”
There was laughter and chattering and even a bit of singing as the crowd dispersed, which left Tia feeling even more desolate. A few people were mourning stasis deaths, as she was, but they allowed themselves to be swept along with the crowd. Perhaps they hoped that if they were surrounded by the joy of others it would help ease their pain.
Soon she and Leo were the only ones left. He looked at her in silence for a few seconds, his dark eyes narrowed in concern. She forced a smile to her face to reassure him, but he didn’t look like he was fooled by it.
“Promise me you’ll talk to Dani Lin if you need to,” he said at last. The chaplain was the closest thing they had to a professional counselor.
“I will,” she said. “I promise.”
He hesitated a moment longer, then nodded a reluctant leavetaking, and left to follow the others.
She was alone.
The Office of Reproductive Affairs is crowded. Of course. Everything on Earth is crowded.
“Don’t worry.” Michael puts an arm around Tia and squeezes tightly. “It’ll be fine.”
There are a dozen other couples in the waiting room, squeezed into tight little chairs. Most of them are young, just starting out on life’s journey. Too young to be approved for a family; they’re probably submitting their paperwork now so that when they are ready to have children everything will be in order. But there are a few older couples too, and the look of weariness on their faces suggests they’ve been here many, many times, and are beginning to lose hope that things will ever go differently. God willing, she and Michael will never get to that point.
“Reyes and Cantelli?”
They rise up from their chairs and follow the greeter to a stark little room, just big enough for two chairs and a modest desk. Narrow windows in one wall look out upon a faded city, shadowy and gray. At the desk sits a nondescript agent with a desk monitor open in front of him. Probably their files are displayed on it.
Michael takes her hand in his as they sit. A lifeline.
“Good day,” the man says. His tone is neither friendly nor forbidding, simply functional. A robot might sound the same. “My name is Reginald Auger, agent number 950-74725A-5. I assume you are here to appeal your reproductive denial?”
“Yes, sir. We have some new data.” Michael hands him a small data card, which the man passes over the sensory panel on his monitor. He clears his throat as a display comes up, and reads it closely. “Good B & L rating,” he mutters. “Very impressive.” He hands the card back to Michael. “But this doesn’t alter anything.”
“Our genetic profiles are both in the ninetieth percentile for health and longevity,” Michael persists. “B & L has given us a combined reproductive rating of A minus. Optimal potential in five key categories. Minimal chance of genetic disorders.”
“We’ve been waiting five years,” Tia reminds him.
The man sighs deeply. “Yes, I understand. And if and when you do have children, they are likely to be healthy, resilient, and intelligent. The kind of citizens that Earth could use more of.” Seeing Michael about to speak, he holds up a hand. “Yes, such a profile does move you higher in the queue than couples with less stellar potential. But it doesn’t change the underlying equation. The population on this continent has reached its limit. No one on the wait list can be approved to reproduce until natural death and emigration bring the numbers down. That is simple mathematical fact.”
“On this continent?” Michael asks. “Is it different elsewhere?”
“Not anywhere you would like to live. There are some places so unfit for humans that few ever try to settle there. Believe me, you don’t want to go there. You certainly don’t want to raise children there. Any place you’d like to live in will be just as crowded as North America. That’s the state of the world, I’m afraid.”
“Is there any other way?” Michael asks. “Maybe a colony?”
“In this system? Not likely. The colonies have limited resources, and territorial expansion is complicated and costly. And they manage their populations even more strictly than we do. You’d be more likely to get approved eventually, but it would still be a long wait.”
More likely to get approved eventually. The words chill Tia. Has he really just told them that even if they wait for years, even if they jump through all the hoops the government places before them, they may never be approved to raise a family on Earth? Maybe she is misunderstanding him. Hopefully she is misunderstanding.
“What about outside the solar system?” Michael asks.
“Exomigration?” The agent leans back in his chair. “You understand what that would mean, right? The risk involved in committing yourself to an unknown world? The physical hardship? The fact that you would have to leave behind everyone you love here, everything you have accomplished, your very history? Few are willing to go that far.”
“But we could have a family there,” Tia persists.
“Oh, yes.” He taps the monitor. “With this kind of genetic profile, you’d be a first pick for any colony. That’s where your DNA has real value. But there are also requirements regarding reproduction that some find unappealing.”
“We can have two children together,” Tia says. “Isn’t that right? After that we would have to do that with other people?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “For the sake of genetic diversity, that’s required.” He taps the screen in several places. “I’m sending you the contact information you’d need to pursue this. You’ll have to sit down with a counselor and be evaluated before you can even join the wait list, but . . .” For the first time in their meeting, he smiles. “I have no doubt you two will pass muster.”
There is no more to say after that. Michael and Tia exit the office in silence, squeezing past all the anxious couples in the waiting room, and ride down a tube in which people are packed so tightly it’s hard to breathe. This is Earth, which has no room for one more inhabitant. So the people in power have decreed.
When they’re finally out on the street they walk hand in hand for a while, communing in mournful silence. Then he turns to her and asks, “How badly do you want a family, Tia?” A pause. “More than anything in the world?”
She imagines what it would be like to have children—not just one, or even two, but a household full of them. Laughing and playing in the clean air, beneath the sun of an alien world, with limitless land to claim for their own, to raise their own families in peace and safety.
“More than anything on Earth,” she tells him.
The aftershock woke Tia up.
It was only a small tremor, really. The other five people in her tent slept right through it. Probably most of the other colonists did as well. Everyone was exhausted from the first day’s work, not to mention the party afterwards. But they had accomplished their first set of goals: moving the drop pods to their permanent positions, staking out tents, and laying down a pipe to bring in water from the nearby river. Now it was a place where 184 people could live, eat, and sleep while they worked on more permanent arrangements.
Tomorrow a foraging team would start searching for edible plant life, while a band of hunters would look for game. Never mind that none of them had ever hunted a living creature before, or that their only experience with tracking had been in simulations during Orientation. They were hunter-gatherers now, and hopefully the instincts that had allowed their primitive ancestors to survive on Earth were embedded in their genes. Meanwhile, fields would be cleared, crops planted, permanent housing built. And next year, or maybe the year after that, there would be children.
But not hers and Michael’s.
With a sob she turned her face toward the tent wall, so that if the others woke up they wouldn’t see her tears. She would have to bear a child eventually, she knew that. The colony had too few members to waste any DNA. They had all agreed to those terms before they left Earth. But that wouldn’t be the child she dreamed of, with Michael’s DNA and hers combined into a new and wonderful creature, the ultimate expression of their love. That dream was gone forever.
“Hey,” Lise whispered. “You all right?”
She looked back and saw Lise propped up on one elbow. She wiped her eyes and nodded. The last thing she wanted was to talk to anyone about this. “Just restless. I think I need some air.”
What she needed was to be alone.
Outside the tent the night was alien, dark and yet not-dark, with a large moon overhead, a smaller half-moon on the eastern horizon, and a final scattering of stars to the west. It was all cold light. So cold. There was no comfort in this place.
She walked for a while, arms wrapped around herself. The night air was chill; she should have brought her blanket with her.
A baby cried in the distance.
Startled, she stopped walking and listened. But there was no second cry. There was no sound at all, not even of insects. Had she imagined it? Or was there some animal cry natural to this world, which her grieving mind had transformed into a baby’s voice? Was she going crazy?
Then she heard it again, and this time there was no mistaking it: the cry of a distressed human infant. Why would there be a baby here, on a planet that had never known humans before today? She was shivering now, and her arms wrapped more tightly around her chest. The urge to go seek out the source of the cry was so strong she could barely resist it.
“Hey, everything okay?”
The voice startled her. She looked back and saw Steve Sheridan approaching. Wasn’t he one of the cooks? The circles under his eyes suggested he was having as much trouble sleeping as she was.
“Fine,” she said. She forced her arms to relax and drop down by her sides. “I thought I heard a noise.”
“Yeah.” He came to where she stood and gazed out at the forest in the distance. “That was pretty spooky.”
“You heard it too?”
He nodded. “There’s definitely something out there.”
“It sounded human,” she dared.
He chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say all of the humans currently on Erna are accounted for. Mostly asleep, I’d imagine. And none of them would be crying like that, anyway.” He gazed out into the night. “But it was odd-sounding, I’ll give you that.”
“Like a human baby,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “There are animals back on Earth that sound human. No reason there can’t be one here as well. I wouldn’t read too much into it.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all good, Tia. Arrival anxiety. They told us to expect it.”
