Warden: A Novel

by Gregg Vann

“I told you,” Tana said brusquely. “I’m fine.”

  Barent climbed back into the snowcraft without saying another word, and then he started up the engines as Tana clambered in behind him. The canopy dropped into place as she settled down into her seat, sealing with a barely perceptible hiss.

  It was followed by an uncomfortable silence.

  “I’m sorry,” Tana said.

  “It’s not a problem,” Barent replied. “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen. No pressure. No judgment.”

  “Thank you, Barent. I mean it.”

  “I mean it too.”

  Tana had been rattled ever since Barent asked about the scar on her forehead, and he knew the question had brought back some unpleasant memories for her. Barent had a few scars of his own that produced a similar effect, every time he noticed them in the mirror, and though he didn’t know any of the details, he did understand Tana’s pain. And more than most, he also understood her reluctance to talk about it.

  “So we’re just going to leave it there like that?” Tana asked, gazing out at the horse as they pulled away.

  “In this temperature he’ll freeze up nicely, and in short order. We can always come back and get him later if you’re that curious about how they taste.”

  “No, Barent. It’s not that. It just seems…well, wrong somehow.”

  “Believe it or not, I know exactly how you feel. Humans have always had a kind of intrinsic kinship with horses, and even though they do make an excellent food source, it wouldn’t exactly be like killing and eating a fish. Would it?”

  “No, not at all. That animal was so large, and warm.”

  “Not for much longer, I’m afraid.”

  Tana scanned the icy terrain outside and knew that Barent was right.

  As they got closer to the Olin, Barent stopped the snowcraft again and hopped out for another look. He toggled the mag-lens in and out, examining the three-kilometer-long ship from stem to stern, and then Tana saw his head pivot up the mountainside and wondered what Barent was looking at.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “It looks like the ship slammed into that mountain range about halfway up,” Barent replied.

  He indicated a long dent crushed into the face of the otherwise unbroken wall of stone. The mountainside below it was scarred with long, jagged striations, gouged into its surface, tracing out a jumbled path to where the Olin rested below.

  “Can you see the impact site?” Barent asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Tana said. “I don’t need the mag-lens to pick that out. But how could the search crews from the Le’sant have missed it? Or not found the ship itself, for that matter?”

  Barent reached inside the snowcraft to give Tana the mag-lens. “No idea. But take a good look at the Olin.”

  Tana stood up on the seat so she could see better and then zoomed in on the ship. “It’s opened up…partially. But not in any way the colony’s engineers intended for it to, that’s for sure. It almost looks like Le’sant’s Central District lying on its side, with the bottom of a huge rocket attached to it.”

  “My guess is that it hit the mountain sideways on a landing approach to the crater,” Barent said. “Probably while making a last-minute turn to avoid it. The Olin must have been moving very slowly or the impact would have obliterated it. After it struck the mountain, it looks like the ship went rolling down the face of it and crashed to the ground. That somehow triggered the landing protocols and the Olin tried to deploy in the city configuration. If you look up toward the front of it you can see a few buildings that snapped in half during the effort. They were pushed up the side of the mountain, and ended up resting vertically. But the majority of the skyrises are still flat on their sides, hidden underneath the exterior starship shell.”

  “Could anything survive that?” Tana asked.

  “I think the horse we hit answers that question,” Barent replied.

  “Then I wonder what else made it. Do you think the people—?”

  “It’s been five hundred years, Tana.”

  She grabbed his arm lightly. “Remind me again how old you are, Barent.”

  “Point taken.”

  Tana tried to hand the mag-lens back to him but Barent politely waved it off. She placed it down on the seat beside her. “How many people were on that ship?”

  “Fewer than 1500. Most of the Olin’s cargo was heavily modified livestock and plants—all mutated to thrive on this planet. But it was carrying some building supplies and construction equipment as well. The two ships were supposed to land next to each other, and then link up to create the nucleus of the colony. That was the plan, anyway.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that this is the ship where all of the food animals were kept?” Tana said.

  “Not all of them. Most of the fish, and a good selection of food-bearing plants, were stowed on the Le’sant by design, just in case what happened…actually happened. You don’t put all of your resources on a single ship when you’re making a journey that perilous, and the Le’sant was equipped to be minimally self-sufficient. Unfortunately, it was the barest minimum. Remember, the only organic material on this planet is what we’ve brought with us, and the Le’sant’s allotment was insufficient as a long-term survival solution—until the development of Nutriall, that is. No one ever dreamed that the contingency plan would have to last more than ten years, but when then the other ships never came…”

  “You didn’t get a chance to see much of the city,” Tana said, “but we have substantial areas devoted to aquaculture and horticulture, including enormous fish farms that use the thermal vents to heat up pools of water and create suitable habitats. Most of the food produced is all blended together to make Nutriall, of course, but some of it’s kept unrefined, and sold off as regular meat and vegetables. Unfortunately, not very much of it.”

  Tana looked back over in the direction of the Olin. “So that ship is full of food?” she repeated. “Real food?”

  Barent chuckled. “I’m telling you that it was. I don’t know what it’s full of now. But we do know that at least some of the horses survived.” He saw the anticipation on Tana’s face and Barent smiled in amusement. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go see if we can find you something to eat.”

  “Something other than Nutriall and ration bars.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Olin

  “It’s huge,” Tana exclaimed.

  From a distance, the colossal mountain range behind the Olin had hidden its true dimensions. But now that it filled their view, the immensity of the ship was inescapable.

  “It’s no bigger than Central Le’sant,” Barent replied. “And in many ways, it’s almost identical. But because it looks like a giant city toppled over onto its side you can get a good indication of just how massive the colony ships were.”

  “It’s certainly one hell of a sight,” Tana said.

  They encountered a few more horses as they drew nearer to the ship and Barent easily swerved around them. Even though the animals blended in with the snow almost perfectly—nestled low on the ground with their legs tucked up underneath them—now that he knew what to look for Barent could spot their silhouettes without much difficulty.

  They also observed some smaller creatures pouncing in and out of the snow, twisting their heads side-to-side to have a cautious look around, before burrowing back underground just as quickly as they’d appeared. But despite all of the increased activity, there were no signs of human habitation anywhere.

  Barent refocused his attention on the ship when they got to within a few hundred meters of it, noting that one of the massive engines had been torn away from the fuselage. The damage created a large, building-sized rip in the hull that made for an obvious entry point.

  His eyes scanned over a wide area around the Olin, and Barent thought it odd that the missing engine was nowhere to be found. But even more bizarre were the black scorch marks around the jagged edges of th
e fuselage—highlighting where the powerful motor had been ripped away from the ship. Barent was sorely tempted to ride down the full length of the Olin, and examine the enormous vessel further. But he was even more interested in what was inside it, so he headed straight toward the huge gash in the hull and pulled the snowcraft right up to it. He opened the canopy and motioned for Tana to stay inside.

  “Give me a minute to check it out,” Barent said.

  “Surely they didn’t put anything dangerous onboard,” Tana protested.

  “What wasn’t dangerous five hundred years ago could be very dangerous now. The animals we’ve seen so far didn’t survive through weakness.”

  Tana wasn’t thrilled about staying behind, but the idea of remaining inside the warm snowcraft for just a little while longer did have its appeal. “Just make it quick, Barent. I’m really curious to see what’s in there.”

  “Me too,” he replied. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  Barent used the exterior switch to close the canopy and then withdrew both pistols, cautiously stepping inside the darkened interior of the ship. As his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he found himself standing in one of the missing engine’s maintenance rooms. The floor—the wall, actually—was covered in snow that had blown in from the outside, and as one of Barent’s boots slid forward, threatening to send him to the ground, he realized that there was a thin layer of ice hidden just beneath it. A few meters up ahead, the snow disappeared and Barent could see bare metal walls, clearly visible beneath the icy sheen. He also noticed a bright light off in the distance and began moving toward it slowly—careful with his footing as he transitioned from snow to the icy metal surface.

  As Barent got closer to the light he saw that it was coming from a doorway. The rectangular opening was horizontal due to the orientation of the Olin, so Barent squatted down in front of it and pushed one of his pistols through. He pointed the other one out behind him, just in case something was hiding in the shadows of the maintenance room, and then Barent leaned his head through the door to take a look.

  It was much brighter in the next room but his eyes adapted quickly and took in the sight. Comprehending it, however, was another matter entirely. The particles of light flowed through Barent’s retinas as intended, flooding his optic nerves with the appropriate information. But his brain was having a remarkably difficult time processing it. And all of the sudden, finding out that he’d been asleep for five centuries wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to him.

  The adjoining room had been ripped in half—probably as the Olin tumbled down the mountainside—leaving an unobstructed view all the way down the cavernous central core of the great ship. In the distance Barent could make out the foundations of the massive skyrises resting on their sides—some even partially erected. But it was impossible to tell how far the ship had managed to deploy because his view was blocked by an ocean of green. The entire central section of the Olin was covered in plants and trees.

  Dense vegetation spread out across every flat surface Barent could see, disappearing down each corridor of the ship, and alleyway of the city. Everything was all jumbled together—city, ship, and forest—forming a seamless and cluttered mass that removed the individual distinctions from each of them. Barent smelled the loamy aroma of plants and soil, and he felt the abundant humidity in the air. But mostly, he noticed how hot it was inside the Olin; the heat was pouring out through the doorway where he knelt.

  Despite the frigid cold at his back Barent’s forehead began to perspire. He wiped away the sweat with his sleeve and scanned out over the treetops, carefully peering down through the bushes near the ground as well. Barent noticed the occasional rustle of branches, and witnessed several large tree limbs sink down a few inches before snapping back up again—as if a burden of weight had settled on them for a moment and then jumped off. There were hints of movement everywhere, and some of them were not nearly so subtle.

  There are animals in here, Barent realized. A lot of them…

  He spotted various fruits on the nearby trees and bushes, and stalks of corn growing randomly in different spots. And as Barent studied the scene more closely he was able to identify a wide collection of fruits and vegetables. But there was no rhyme or reason to their placement, and it looked like the crops were just growing completely wild, with only the animals to control their spread.

  Barent wanted to go investigate further but knew he needed to get Tana first. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone for too long, just in case there were surprises outside the ship as well. And besides, she had to see this. He carefully made his way back out, and Tana opened the canopy when she saw him emerge from the ship.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “You wouldn’t believe me. Even if I told you.”

  Tana hopped out of the snowcraft enthusiastically and grabbed the supplies off the bench seat. “I can’t wait to see.”

  “Me either,” Barent replied. “I wasn’t able to get in too close.”

  “Too close to what?”

  “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Barent led Tana in through the maintenance room, cautioning her about the slippery floor, and then he watched her stunned reaction as she knelt down and peered through the doorway.

  “I don’t believe it,” Tana said. “What is that? A jungle? A forest?”

  “A little of both, I think.”

  “But how’s that even possible? And it’s so warm.”

  Tana smiled as she looked up at Barent, clearly enjoying the heat pouring out through the opening.

  “I don’t understand it either,” he replied. “This ship should be a frozen block of ice. But the only way we’re going to get any answers is to go down there and take a look around.”

  Barent saw the look of excitement on Tana’s face and knew he’d get no argument from her. He stooped low beside her and crawled through the door first, dropping almost two meters to the floor of the next room. Then Barent reached up and helped Tana as she made her own way down.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  They carefully passed through the jagged edges of rent metal where the opposite side of the room had been torn away, and then stepped down into the Olin’s central core. Both reached out in curiosity to touch the waist-deep foliage.

  “It’s damned hot in here,” Barent noted.

  He took off his cloak and tied it around his waist, and then Barent reslung his plasma rifle and they began hiking through the plants.

  “You weren’t built for the heat, eh?” Tana asked, a little too cheerily for Barent’s liking.

  “Not really,” he replied. “I fought in a desert war once and it was far hotter than this. But that was well before the climate treatment.” Then Barent grinned. “But I didn’t like it much back then either.”

  “Is this a problem for you?”

  “Not at all. I’m just not used to sweating…so damn much.”

  “Well, good,” Tana replied. “Because I like it.”

  “The sweating?”

  “That’s funny, Barent. The histories never said you had a sense of humor.”

  “Not much of one, I’m afraid.”

  Barent stopped and knelt down at the base of a large tree, closely examining the ground around it. “The trees we brought with us were all mutated to require fewer nutrients, and to minimize the root systems they needed to survive. But this is still quite remarkable.”

  Tana squatted next to Barent as he pushed his hands down through the thin layer of soil. “The dirt here is only eight inches or so deep,” he said.

  He dug around one of the larger roots and traced its path through the soil, eventually reaching the hull of the ship. The root disappeared down through the metal. “Well I’ll be damned,” Barent said. “The roots have penetrated the Olin’s fuselage and are trying to get to the planet’s surface.”

  “But how’s that possible?” Tana asked.

  “Oh, it’s possible,” Barent said. “The trees aboard the Le’sant
had the exact same modifications. They were designed to puncture the rocks and icy surface of the planet, so metal wouldn’t be that much of an impediment to them—especially once the trees grew larger and more powerful.” Barent looked down toward the front of the ship, again marveling at the vast expanse of green. “The storage tanks must have ruptured when the Olin crashed, sending the soil flooding throughout the interior. The seedlings and frozen cryo-growths were probably spread around the same way. Either that, or the animals ate the surviving plants and scattered the seeds around through their bowels. However this happened, it’s pretty damn amazing.”

  “Yes,” Tana agreed. “It really is.”

  They got back up again and Barent brushed his hands off.

  “What I don’t understand,” Tana said, “is why this all exists in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take a look around, Barent. Just look at all of the technology and effort that went into this. I’ve only ever known Le’sant as a city, but to see this—to imagine those two massive ships sailing through space… Why go through all that trouble and expense just to settle on this frozen hunk of rock? Why put a colony here? I mean…I know Earth was a mess, but this planet isn’t exactly paradise, either.”

  “That’s easy to explain,” Barent said. “This is one of the very few planets the explorer probes found with a suitable atmosphere, and that had decent soil we could manipulate. The geothermal energy was just the icing on the cake.”

  “Still…” Tana said. Her tone made it clear she was unconvinced.

  “There were a lot worse places, if you can believe it.”

  “I can’t,” Tana replied, and then she stepped over to pull an apple off a nearby tree, taking a big bite out of it.

  “How does it taste?” Barent asked her.

  “It’s delicious,” Tana mumbled. “You want one?”

  “No thanks. We’d better keep moving. This place is huge, and there’s just so much to see. With the city partially extended, the Olin is even longer than three kilometers now, and it’s wider than the transit configuration as well.”