[Children of a Dead Earth 01.0] The Ark

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  Not that humans had done all, or even most, of the building. The majority of labor came courtesy of the army of machines that had spent the last two and a half centuries locked away in the Ark’s cargo bays. The explosion of activity only served to reinforce to Benson how much humanity had sat on its hands during the long road to Gaia. What he witnessed now was nothing short of a force of nature at work.

  As he walked down the wide boulevard, nearly everyone paused to acknowledge his passing with something bordering on reverence. Benson had known celebrity in his life aboard the Ark as a Zero champion, but it was nothing compared to the legend that had grown around him as the savior of all mankind. It probably wouldn’t be long before they started pushing to put up some gaudy bronze statue of him in the city center.

  A piece of litter caught his eye. A crumpled piece of paper, laying on the side of the road where it had been scrunched up and carelessly dropped. An old ache gnawed at him as Benson picked the trash up.

  Trash. It was a word mankind hadn’t used in centuries. Nothing went to waste on the Ark. There, he’d have used the surveillance net to backtrack the culprit and slap them with ten hours of community service for breaking Conservation Code Seven.

  But here in Shambhala, only three years into the experiment, humans were already falling into old habits. Bad habits. Benson carried the paper and dropped it into the nearest recycling bin, shaking his head as he did so.

  One last turn and Benson was at the doorstep of the house he shared with Theresa, his wife of almost three years and the city’s first chief constable. It was a quaint yet comfortable affair straight out of the housing catalog, printed in a day flat by extrusion gantries. The rounded red roof tiles gave it a Mediterranean architectural flavor, but the flare did nothing to hide the fact it was still a standard unit. Not that Benson cared. It had Theresa inside it, so it was home.

  The door recognized his plant and opened automatically, inviting him inside.

  “Esa, I’m home!”

  “Kitchen,” came her reply.

  Benson hung his jacket and whistle by the front door, set his tablet down on the small entryway table, then took a deep, cleansing breath, letting the day’s stresses and frustrations leak back out of him on the exhale.

  “You smell like a jockstrap,” Theresa said from the dining room.

  “I love you, too.”

  “I thought you’re just coaching the team, not rolling around in the dirt with them.”

  “There’s a lot of yelling and running up and down the sidelines involved.” Benson stared up at the ceiling for several seconds.

  “What’s wrong?” Theresa asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re counting ceiling tiles again. That’s weird.”

  Benson pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. “I’m not counting, I just… like having a ceiling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. It just feels more secure. I guess I’m still not entirely comfortable with the sky. Sometimes I get caught up looking at a cloud or something and feel like there’s nothing keeping me from falling off the planet.”

  “Only gravity,” Theresa teased. “You know, one of the four fundamental forces of the universe.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Mmm,” Theresa hummed. “I love the skies here, especially at night. The stars make me feel like I could stretch my arms out forever.”

  “You could, and still never find something to grab onto, that’s the problem. I spent enough time out among the stars a few years ago, thank you very much. I’d still be out there floating through them if it hadn’t been for a safety tether.”

  Theresa hugged him lightly from behind. “Don’t worry, you’re not floating away from me that easily.” She gave him a peck on the head, then pretended to spit it back out. “God, you’re as sweaty as a jockstrap, too. You’re taking a shower.”

  “After dinner. I’m starving. Speaking of dinner, what did Jack send down the beanstalk today?”

  Theresa held up a finger and turned for the small kitchen, then returned with a steaming plate of–

  “Algae and mushroom casserole.”

  “Again?”

  “Hey, I slaved all day in the kitchen–”

  “Heating up the package the casserole came in. The door told me you got home ten minutes ago.”

  Theresa put up her hands. “All right, guilty, but it’s not like I’m choosing the menu. And it wouldn’t kill you to prepare dinner once in a while.”

  “I’ve been busy coaching, you know that.”

  Theresa sat down and cut herself a piece of casserole. “Oh yes, the work of our director of recreation and athletic preparedness is never done. Who could blame him for failing to perform his share of the household chores?”

  “Have you seen some of the people coming down the elevator? A lot of them can barely lift anything heavier than the contents of their forks or chopsticks, much less do any physical work like, say, building the colony. They should have given me this job years ago.”

  Theresa shrugged and set a piece on his plate. “Well, seeing as that means I’d have made chief years ago, I’m hardly going to argue the point. Now, can we eat?”

  Benson picked up a fork. “I’m hardly going to argue the point.”

  He had just enough time to get the first bite on his tongue when the call came in through his plant.

 

  “I know who you are, Merick. Your name comes up in the corner of my vision, remember?” Benson said out loud as well as into his plant interface. “What I don’t know is why nobody down here knows how to ring first. I’ve just sat down to dinner.”

 

  Benson stood up from his chair. “At least put yourself up on the screen in the living room.”

 

  “The only other person here is the chief constable. Now please get out of my head.”

  The link cut off, replaced by a gentle chime and an Incoming Call icon glowing on the far wall. Benson answered it.

  “Ah, Deputy Administrator Merick. How are things in the Beehive?” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Busy, to say the least. I’m sorry to intrude, Mr Benson, but Administrator Valmassoi has called an emergency council meeting.”

  “Ah, well then you’re talking to the wrong Benson. Esa, phone for you.”

  “No, I was asked to contact you, personally. Your presence has been requested for the meeting.”

  Theresa walked into the living room holding two beers. “What’s going on, Bryan?”

  “Secret agent stuff, apparently.”

  “Cool. I’ll get my coat.”

  “I’m sorry,” Merick’s face tried and failed to hide his nervousness. “But the chief constable’s presence is not necessary at this time.”

  “Hold on,” Benson took the lager Theresa offered and sipped it. It was crisp, without the skunkiness of last month’s batch. The brewmaster was getting the hang of things, finally. “Ah, that’s nice. Now, what sort of ‘emergency council meeting’ requires the Athletics director and not the chief constable?”

  Theresa put a hand on Benson’s shoulder. “Did you forget to pay the deposit on your equipment rental?”

  “I could have sworn…”

  “Mr and Mrs Benson, if you’re finished, this is a serious matter that requires Mr Benson’s immediate presence. The meeting is starting in ten minutes, as soon as Captain Mahama is able to join us from the Ark.”

  That got Benson’s attention. “Mahama’s coming all the way down here?”

  “No, but she will be joining us by holo link. Administrator Valmassoi will be most grateful if you can join him and the rest of the council in the capital building.”

  “Can we finish dinner first?”

  “If you can eat it while you’re walking down here. Merick out.” The link went dark.

  “This better be good.” Benson stood and chugged t
he rest of his beer. “I’m still starving.”

  Theresa grabbed her jacket off a rack in the entryway. “It’ll reheat.”

  “Yeah, because algae reheats so well.”

  Three

  Theresa crossed her arms close to her body against the brisk night air. With so little cloud cover, temperatures dropped quickly after the sun set. The capital was a short walk downtown from their duplex in Shambhala’s suburbs. Less than a block from home, they passed the new museum. The curator, Devorah Feynman, now officially past mandatory retirement age, showed no signs of slowing, and even fewer signs of trusting anyone else with the task of transferring her exhibits from the Ark to the surface. Not even the crew dared to broach the subject of stepping down with her. No one wanted to risk it.

  Theresa smiled at the thought of the diminutive tyrant riding roughshod over not only her subordinates, but her superiors as well. Few people in the history of the species had ever been so perfectly suited for the role life had provided them.

  “Any guess what’s gotten up Valmassoi’s backside?” Theresa whispered as they approached the Capital’s steps.

  “You mean generally, or for this meeting in particular?”

  “The late-night emergency meeting with the football coach. Isn’t it a little early for a performance-enhancing drug scandal? You haven’t even played the first games yet.”

  “Honestly, I think my linemen could benefit from a few rounds of PEDs.”

  Theresa answered him with an elbow to the ribs. “Be serious.”

  “I don’t know, Esa.” He paused to nod to the two door guards, who waved them both through without the customary search. “But we’ll find out in a minute.”

  The capital building’s inner rotunda was enclosed by a six-sided dome. The floor tiles came from locally sourced marble that had been quarried about five kilometers up the New Amazon river, the mouth of which spilled out into the Bay of Landing. The tilework was also hexagonal, as were many of the rooms surrounding the rotunda. Officially, the capital was dedicated as the Westminster Building, but everyone had quickly taken to calling it the Beehive.

  Theresa and Benson reached the cabinet chamber where Deputy Administrator Merick waited for them.

  “I thought we’d agreed that the chief constable wasn’t needed at this meeting,” he said tensely as they approached the door.

  “You thought that, yes.” Theresa had little regard or time for the chairman’s lapdog.

  “I’m sorry, but I must insist that–”

  Ever the peacemaker, her husband put an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “Merick, c’mon. She’s chief constable, and my wife.” He pointed at the door. “Anything I hear in there is just going to be pillow talk in a couple hours anyway. This way, she doesn’t have to hear it secondhand.”

  Theresa shrugged her shoulders. “He’s right, you know.”

  Defeated, Merick opened the door with a theatrical sigh and announced their arrival to the council room at large. Administrator Valmassoi already sat at the nominal head of the hexagonal, twelve-seat table, flanked by the other council members, who doubled as his ministers of finance, health, agriculture, labor, and civil engineering. As far as Theresa could see, the ministers of education and the interior either hadn’t arrived yet or hadn’t been invited.

  Standing off to one side, Theresa locked eyes with Chao Feng, formerly First Officer Commander Chao Feng. Certain improprieties had led to his being relieved of that title shortly after the Ark arrived at Gaia. Mainly his ham-handed attempt to protect himself from suspicion in a murder investigation by concealing his romantic relationship with the victim, leading Theresa’s husband on a wild goose chase while the real killer’s plot very nearly succeeded in causing the extinction of the entire human race. Instead, they only managed to slaughter two fifths of it.

  In spite of his short-sighted and selfish behavior, Feng was far too capable and well-connected to discard entirely. He’d settled into the role of coordinator and liaison between the colony’s civilian government and the crew still running the Ark high above.

  Feng nodded to her. Theresa nodded back. He didn’t make eye contact with her husband, however. There was still an awful lot of baggage between the two of them. Enough to ground a shuttle.

  “Ah, Detective Benson…” Administrator Valmassoi said. “And our chief constable…”

  “Is there a problem, administrator?” Theresa asked sweetly.

  “No, of course not. I just hadn’t been expecting your presence for this meeting.”

  “Neither had I,” Merick said from the doorway.

  Theresa was about to snap at him, but Valmassoi waved him off. “It’s fine, Preston. We’d be honored to include our chief law enforcement officer’s insights in our deliberations. That will be all for now.”

  Merick bowed. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything.” The door clicked shut behind him.

  “Now then.” Valmassoi held a hand out to two unoccupied chairs. “Detective, chief, please have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Benson said as he sat down. “But it’s actually just coach, or if you really must be formal, director of athletic preparedness and recreation. My wife is the detective now.” Benson reached over and squeezed Theresa’s hand.

  “Of course you’re right, coach. Your reputation precedes you.”

  “What’s this all about?” Theresa said.

  Valmassoi held up a hand. “We’re about to start. We’re waiting on one more guest.” As he said it, a flickering, translucent image of Captain Mahama filled the seat next to the administrator. Her dark complexion stood in stark contrast to the drab gray and brown of her command uniform. Even from thousands of kilometers away and looking like a ghost, the woman effortlessly commanded attention.

  “Can we clean that up at all?” Valmassoi leaned back to ask a holo tech hidden in the shadows.

  “Sorry sir, there’s some high-altitude particulates interfering with the com laser. Probably from that wildfire on the other side of the continent.”

  Valmassoi nodded curtly. “Can you hear me, Captain?”

  After an almost imperceptible delay, Mahama’s ghostly figure turned to face roughly where the administrator sat and nodded. “Indeed I can. How do I look?”

  “Like something haunting Scrooge’s house,” Valmassoi said.

  Mahama smirked. “I’m afraid I neglected to bring any chains. Is the room secure on your end?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, is everyone present?”

  Valmassoi nodded in Theresa’s direction. “And then some.”

  Mahama’s holo glanced over and smiled. “Ah, I’m sorry we didn’t think to include you on the list, Chief Benson. It was an oversight, I assure you.”

  “Thank you, captain.” Theresa appreciated the courtesy, even if she doubted its veracity.

  “All right.” Mahama laced her fingers together and cracked her knuckles theatrically. “It’s essential that everyone understands that this discussion is of the utmost sensitivity. Anything said here stays here for the time being.”

  Benson adjusted himself in his chair. “I thought we were done keeping secrets. Sir.”

  Mahama looked squarely at him. “It’s good to see you again too, detective.”

  “Why does everyone keep calling me that?”

  “Apologies, Mr Benson. Force of habit. I’m not making everyone swear an oath of secrecy. However, I am asking for a certain level of… discretion while we decide how best to respond to today’s events.”

  “And what are these events, madam captain?” The question came from another familiar face, Dr Russell, who’d been named health minister just in the past year. She’d been the one to treat Bryan’s extensive burns and other injuries he’d received in the final showdown with Kimura three years earlier. Her plastic surgery work in particular was excellent. Few people knew his face well enough to spot the subtle scars left over from the skin grafts. Theresa could, but she never let him know it. If anything, the fre
sh skin had taken a few years off his face. She didn’t mind.

  “I was just coming to that. Administrator, the video if you please.”

  Valmassoi pointed at the holo tech and made a “get rolling” gesture with his index finger. A moment later, the lights in the room darkened as one of the walls lit up, displaying a scene that everyone in the room, indeed everyone in the city, had already spent hours watching over the last three years.

  Video feed streamed from inside the temple on the continent of Atlantis the natives had built around the first of Pathfinder’s rovers they’d discovered. The rover itself was powered by a radioisotope thermoelectric generator with a half-life measured in decades, which was why it was still operating three years after being captured.

  Aside from a couple of scientific instruments that had glitched or fallen victim to the natives’ curiosity, it was still fully functional and had been gathering information on their new neighbors the entire time. Much had already been learned about their physiology, culture, and even language thanks to the happy accident of the rover’s capture.

  It appeared they were watching another of the Atlantians’ frequent offering ceremonies, where the village elders tried to earn favor from the rover with bribes of tubers, fungus, piles of seeds, and the occasional animal. The rover would show its gratitude by taking measurements, collecting and analyzing samples, and even dissecting certain specimens, all under the control of an exuberant exobiologist sitting in a lab aboard the Ark. They could only guess at what the natives made of its odd behavior.

  Theresa watched intently as the rover’s binocular camera mast panned through the collection of aliens, their bioluminescent skin glowing in rhythmic patterns synchronized with the haunting melodies of their prayer songs. The scene was utterly foreign, yet compellingly beautiful. The sheer number of individuals jumped out at her. There had to be three hundred of them crammed into the circular room, well above normal. Attendance at these ceremonies had slacked off over the years, falling into a pattern resembling the spikes for Christmas and Easter Mass at the Catholic cathedral, and relative calm the rest of the year. But today didn’t fall into that pattern of holy days for the Atlantians.