"Every
3600 the two planets are in their closest proximal orbits, which continues for 200
to 400 years. At these times, they return to the Earth with new experiments and
technologies to test on the humanoids left from the old mining operations. The
strongest victims resisted the trances that enabled the abductions; but their
minds were no longer controllable. Their brains had mutated and evolved to a
higher level. These humans were either killed or kept aboard for further study.
Some were sterilized and transported to other planets to work mines. Whatever
their fate, they could not be permitted to breed with the normal populous and
contaminate future generations.
However,
the humans whose minds had not yet mutated to the higher level could still be
controlled. They were returned to their homes after the abductions - with their
memories shrouded with bizarre images and tales of alien abduction."
Lord Kelnor Din, "Legacy of the Obolids"
Chronicles of the Visitor; 2382 TS
CHAPTER IV
Just below the
residential quads on were the areas of general commerce and recreation for the Star
Cities. Shop keepers, beauticians, barbers, restaurants, theaters, museums and
art galleries provided products, services and activities to the populace. The
Though all citizens
were not required to "work", most found the act of developing
expertise in a chosen craft or field to be a satisfying and rewarding pastime.
Whether it was creating a new line of seductive lingerie, performing in a play,
nursing lilies in the sewers or teaching tomorrow's generations the values of
the past, satisfaction was achieved by thriving to be the best.
After the Great
Migration, the first migrants determined that concepts of economic gain and
cash incentives were the factors most destructive to social health. These
concepts embraced the idea that perpetual conflict provided normal, healthy and
necessary inspiration for continuous growth, stability and social survival.
Wealth vs. poverty, control vs. free will, and power vs. vulnerability, were
all life conflicts and considered natural and unavoidable. Work incentive
preyed on basic greed and survival attitudes, and economist fed into it by
declaring that people would not be willing to perform distasteful duties if no
monetary reward was gained. "If there were no monetary system, the world
would be reduced to chaos. Who would collect garbage; sweep streets, or clean
public toilets? Our cities would collapse from filth and decay."
Children were taught the
value of money at an early age, given weekly allowances to save in their piggy
banks or to buy a new toy. The work ethic was more firmly implanted by the
educational systems with a quarterly report card: "A" for the
acceptable child - "D" for the dumb ones. Acceptable children were
the most productive and offered greater monetary gains to an economically
driven society; but the dumb children offered no value to society. Parents
validated the ethic by paying more money for the higher grades.
When money no longer
determined the accessibility of food and shelter, clothing, health care and
mental diversion, the pursuit of wealth and the social corruption it inspired
eventually disappeared from everyday life. Theft of goods and services is
impossible when everything is free. Consequently, crimes associated with wealth
and power were eliminated by structuring and entirely new set of social values
in the Terra System.
However, the mentally
disturbed and antisocial criminals still had to be dealt with. Most fit into
two basic categories that were determined by the crimes they committed. The
simply dysfunctional because of organic instability and congenital deformations
were returned to society once these problems were determined and solved. Others
were too disturbed to return. Finding pleasure in sadistic practices, they
would spend their entire lives restrained on the Mental Barge.
The ECOS rebels did
not seem to fit into either of the typical categories. They weren't
dysfunctional or antisocial; they weren't even particularly dangerous. Their
only crimes revolved around the colonization of the planet, which was an
activity expressly forbidden for over 2300 years. Still, captured rebels
refused to answer questions or communicate motives in any way. What little was
known had been obtained through covert activity and undercover investigations.
"I don't get
it," John was saying as he ushered Neila through the congested commerce
area to a favorite restaurant. He led her to a vacant table in a quiet corner
and held the chair for her to sit in. "Look at this place," he
continued saying, "we have everything we want and need right here. Why
would anybody want to leave? From all I've read about life on Earth, we've got
it a thousand times better out here. What motive could anybody have to return
to that kind of life?"
Before she could
respond, a tall lanky waiter dressed in white coveralls with a bright orange
sash peeking out from under a short black vest with long tuxedo tails had trotted
up to their table. He bowed graciously and spoke with a heavy French accent.
"Good evening, Commander Decker. It is always good to see you and your
lovely mademoiselle, and a pleasure to serve you," he smiled broadly.
"Hello, Henri,
it's good to see you again, too. I saw the seafood shuttle coming in from City
IV this afternoon. I hope Ramon has a good supply of oysters."
"An excellent
supply, Masseur. The oyster beds were most productive this year. Much larger
and meatier than any of the previous shipments," he said, slipping a tiny
sea green disk into a slot in table edge. The tabletop suddenly sprang into
life as holographic images of the entree selection emerged and rotated
clockwise in front of them. Henri described every dish with the eloquent expertise
of the true connoisseur. John ordered the oysters in a half shell, the scampi
and a seafood salad plates with a sweet Chardonnay to wash it all down. Henri
entered the selections onto the disk and removed it. "Excellent
selection," he said, repeating the broad smile and elegant bow. Then he
scurried off to the next table.
Neila picked up the
conversation where John had left it, saying, "I can't imagine where this
sudden interest in Earth came from. No one ever questioned the rationales of
planet quarantine before ECOS made it an issue. Was there anything on the
shuttle to give you a clue?"
Before answering, he
scanned the faces of patrons in the restaurant, then shook his head. "No,
not really. Mostly stuff they took from stores a while back. Weapons, antiques
from the museum, nothing we didn't know about."
"Antiques?"
"Yeah, you know,
shovels, picks, hammers, saws, that kind of stuff. Some old literature on
logging and architecture, cookbooks, pharmacology, medical procedures..."
"Everything one
would need to set up housekeeping on a deserted planet," she surmised.
"I guess. You'd
know more about that than I would."
"Why do you say
that?"
"Because you were
there. Isn't that what your research was about?"
"Not hardly. It
was about planet recovery after our ancestors killed it. The regeneration of
life in general. How species have evolved and adapted to the new environment. I
don't know anything about setting up camp. Besides, I seem to remember a
certain tall, skinny lieutenant chasing me around down there. Didn't you have
any kind of survival training as a cadet?"
"Not with the
stuff they had. Survival on Earth wasn't considered an option. We were rigged
to survive in space until a rescue team found us. If you made it through the
entry you were on your own."
The waiter returned to
the table carrying the entrees on a huge silver platter he was balancing high
over his head with his left hand. A tripod was wedged in his right armpit, and
a towel was draped over the forearm. In his right hand, he carried the tall
wine bottle, two stemmed crystal glasses and a candlestick. In one smooth and
graceful motion he managed to set up the tripod and the tray, wrap the bottle
in the towel and pour precisely one ounce of wine into a glass for John to
taste. When John nodded his approval he the glasses and set the bottle and the
candlestick in the center of the table and served the entrees. "You're in
excellent form tonight, Henri," John complimented.
"Oh, thank you
for noticing, Mossier. I have taken up ballet and discovered it to be a great
asset," he told him. He finished arranging the entrees on the table,
snapped up the tray and tripod, bowed and left them alone to enjoy their meal.
"He sure gets a
kick out of making a fuss, don't he," John snickered as he shook out his
napkin and placed it on his knee. Then he took a hefty swig of the wine and
stabbed at a melon ball.
Neila set an enormous
oyster shell on the side of her plate, scooped out the meat and dipped it into
the buttery wine sauce before popping the whole thing into her mouth. She shut
her eyes and savored the flavor of the slimy mussel, then washed it down with a
sip of wine. "Oh, I just remembered something I've been meaning to ask
you," she said, searching for another oyster. "What ever happened to
that big red headed sergeant who was with us on the excursion?"
"You mean my good
buddy, Ray Pierce?"
"Yes, that was
his name. I thought I might run into him sooner or later, but I haven't seen
him at all. I remember he was such a character. Always making me laugh at the
strangest times. Especially when he would tease you when you were trying so
hard to impress me." She swished her fork the sauce to stir the seasonings
up from the bottom and popped the drippy thing into her mouth. "I really
liked him."
"You would. He
just loved watching you hang me out to dry," he snorted through a mouthful
of scampi. "He put in for a transfer a few years back. Said he needed a
change."
"Really. What's
he doing now?"
"Kicking grunts
on the Mental Barge."
"What?"
"He's the drill instructor
for their security recruits. Training Sergeant. You know."
"Wow. That really
is a change. I should have thought he'd want something a little more exciting
than that. He seemed so gung-ho military." She served herself the salad,
scooped some of the scampi onto her emptied oyster shells, and ladled some of
the sauce over the whole thing.
"Yeah, it sort of
surprised everybody," he said, watching her drip the sauce over her food.
"There was some nasty talk about some kind of reprimand; but it wasn't. He
just wanted out for a while." Just as she was about to slip a shrimp in
her mouth, John reached out, snatched her wrist and slid the bite into his own.
"Oh, ya big
bully. Get your own," she scolded.
"Yours tastes
better." He dipped an oyster into the sauce and fed it to her with a kiss.
"See?" She nodded and kissed him back. "By the way, did you know
three of your colleagues are part of the ECOS movement?" he asked, and
shoved a dark green sea pod into his mouth. "They're locked up on the
Barge with the others."
"Three of my
colleagues?"
"Yeah, I
recognized them from the excavation. William Fields, Sarah Tanner and Joe
Thompson."
"Joe
Thompson," she repeated the words. "I can't believe he would risk so
much voluntarily. He was much too dedicated to the project. We thought he would
be the head of research after Professor Harris. He even headed up the project.
His leadership ability and organizational skills were truly a gift."
"I'll say. He led
the raid on the monition stores. He stayed so the rest could get away. That's
when we got him. I wouldn't mind having him on my team."
"He was never
afraid to do whatever was necessary. I just can't believe he'd be a willing
part of this."
"Maybe not; but
they couldn't have recruited a better man. What about the others?"
"I never knew
Sarah very well. She was very aloof and a bit stand offish. Didn't try to make
friends. Will was technical back up. A programmer. He was good, like Henri. We
depended on him to keep things working or make it work better. I remember we
needed a scanner to penetrate deeper in the soil for a better reading. He tore
the whole thing apart and rebuilt it. When he gave it back, the thing was
giving us a deep core analysis. Will was good. Very good. I think he and Sarah
may have had a thing going on for each other for a while. I found them together
once and she blushed bright red."
"What did she
do?"
"Labor, mostly.
Sterilization, clean up, an extra pair of hands, that sort of thing. Nothing
technical, though."
"Was she any good
at it?"
"I guess she was
okay. I didn't need her much. I never heard anybody complain."
"A leader, a
wizard and a worker. Three important components in any revolution. Arthur,
Merlin and Guinevere."
"I suppose. None
of them seems the revolutionary type. Joe and Will were to committed to their
work, and though Sarah might follow a lover to gain his favor, I can easily
doubt it would be more than that." Her meal finished, she sipped at the
glass of Chardonnay. "I've been thinking about something Max said about
the terminal shutting down right when that shuttle would be making it get away.
You know, if TCS hadn't alerted us and ECOS had successfully launched, that
terminal is the only thing that would have picked up the unauthorized vessel in
that sector. I would have ignored it. I have no way of knowing if a flight plan
is authorized without the computer."
"I know. It's
bothering me, too. Do you think a technical wizard could have rigged something,
or programmed it without anybody catching on?"
"I couldn't say.
But Max seems convinced nobody could."
"What about that
sphere? Where would he build something like that? Higgins said it was bigger
than his Halberd. There aren't a whole lot of placed to hide something that
size. It would take an entire hanger bay."
"We would know if
a hanger was out of commission. I can't shake the idea that it's all connected,
somehow. It's just too convenient for it to be a coincidence. There must be
something we're missing. Some way to get at the truth."
"If you're
suggesting we try infiltrating with undercover teams you can forget it. It's
already been tried. The group is too tight, too well organized. They spotted
out agents as soon as we picked them. Thing is, I don't think anybody really
knows anything, except whoever the genius is that's calling the shots. I'm not
real sure anybody knows who that is. Nothing's written down. Messages are
personal and verbal. The couriers can't tell us were they came from or who
they're going to. Everything's anonymous."
"Then how do they
know about the agents?"
"We never found
out. The whole operation just moved off to a new location whenever we got to
close. The only ones that show up at the old location are the agents. Then,
nothing. No messages, no new location, no mistakes. It has to be the most
sophisticated conspiracy since Operation Noah."