Angry Ghosts

by F. Allen Farnham

  Keller nods thoughtfully at the memory, and even though he hated the counselor for defying him then, he came to be grateful he had not killed Toro. It is an obvious parallel to the situation at hand.

  “The cadre may disapprove, even hate us for what we did here,” the counselor explains, “but it doesn’t alter the fact it was the right thing to do. There is no such thing as perfect information, which is why justice can never be carried out summarily—the wheels of that machine are designed to turn slowly.”

  Keller’s head bobs in agreement as the counselor continues.

  “Thompson, Argo, and Maiella will prove themselves worthy to the cadre as they did to us. All we did is ensure they get the chance.”

  Keller’s expression lightens considerably, like a great weight has been taken off. Then he grins unexpectedly. “Man, you’re good at this. You sure you weren’t a salesman before you were a psychiatrist?”

  The counselor gives a battleship-wide grin as they walk out together. “Who says I quit being a salesman?”

  Getting Acquainted

  “General," Keller continues with exasperation, “how can you say it doesn’t matter how our DNA is combined? It’s part of us! Why wouldn’t we want a say in how our parts are combined? We’re making people here! People who are going to be our children!”

  “Yes, Captain,” O’Kai grates through clenched teeth, “we are making people, but you make your case as if you were donating limbs. Your DNA is a product. Nothing more!”

  “A product?” Gregor leans forward, splitting at his seams. “A fucking product? Our DNA, it’s… it’s who we are!”

  “It’s our intimate self,” Sharon restates less forcefully, “our uniqueness… our…our…” She trails off, searching for words stifled by emotion.

  “Nothing could be more important or sacred to us,” Ortega finishes.

  Ralla leans forward, much cooler than anyone besides the counselor. “Captain, you speak of your genes as if they comprised your identity, as if by giving up a sample, you would cease to be who you are. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Do you know how many cells your body sloughs off in a day? We could benefit vastly from a swab of your cheek, and you would still be who you are today.”

  Keller looks down at the table shaking his head. “No, Major, you’re not understanding…” He lifts a hand to his mouth and looks off into space, trying to regroup, trying to make them see.

  The counselor notices the lull in discussion and seizes the moment. “General, let’s back away from the topic for a moment and take a deep breath. We have reached a point where both of our arguments are valid and important. Please believe that we want to resolve this issue, so let’s start again where our real breakdown in communication is occurring.”

  The pause is a welcome respite to all, and the storm clouds hovering over the table begin to dissipate. Much sighing and rubbing of faces ensues, and after a few deep breaths, everyone is ready to try again.

  “General,” the counselor continues, “a key difference between our societies is how we think of our own bodies. In your cadre, it appears that everything is shared, and it's a practice born of necessity. We can see how you've struggled to endure, and it is largely due to your extensive sharing of resources, such that there's no ownership of anything. Not even yourselves!”

  “Oh-nur-ship?” O’Kai questions.

  “Possession of something to the exclusion of everyone else,” the counselor explains.

  O’Kai furrows his brow at the concept as do his officers. The counselor easily reads revulsion to the concept in their faces, and he preempts their objection.

  “General, we understand why your cadre works the way it does because it has to. There is no alternative. To survive, this was your option. I want you to believe that we genuinely respect that.”

  “All right, Counselor, then can we end this debate?”

  “We can, General, if you can make a similar leap of faith that we are this way because we, too, have to be.”

  O’Kai pans his head at his fellows, stymied as to how the counselor could possibly be serious.

  “General,” the counselor says, calling O’Kai’s attention back to the table. The aged operator squints back at him, eyebrows lowered.

  “Do you believe we have lived the same lives?” the counselor poses.

  O’Kai nearly loses his seat, guffawing at the obviousness of the answer. “Clearly, we have not!”

  “Fair enough,” the counselor concedes. “You became the way you are because of the realities of life around you. Why, then, is it so hard to believe we became the way we are because of the realities of our lives?”

  The mocking look is gone, skepticism evaporates. “All right, Counselor,” O’Kai states, “I’m listening.”

  The counselor takes a moment to regroup, to make sure the hard-earned attention he has just won is not wasted.

  “I submit that all our differences are strengths. Each of our two cultures has so much to offer the other, I don’t know where to begin! But maybe we should start right here with how we think of our own bodies. In your world, they are community property. But in our world, they are private; and it is paramount we retain the ability to determine what we do with, and what becomes of, our own bodies.”

  “You’re deliberately withholding something we need for no justifiable purpose!” Chusan explodes.

  “No,” the counselor counters calmly, “we are simply obeying what our inner voices tell us is right.”

  “Slag,” Shao-Lo says in derision. “You’re trying to use words to attain dominance over something you fear.”

  Gregor is almost completely out of his seat before the counselor gets a hand on his shoulder and eases him back down. Gregor stares holes through Shao-Lo, but she is unmoved by his visual attack. Moreover, it proves to her that she is right.

  “Colonel, it is true, your cadre can be frightening to us,” the counselor begins, “but is that what we were discussing?”

  Shao-Lo blushes slightly at being called out on her non sequitur. “No,” she admits reluctantly.

  “Okay,” the counselor accepts, giving Gregor’s shoulder a brief squeeze before continuing. “Now then, we were talking about ourselves and how we differ in our views, how those views should not be discounted by either side.”

  Shao-Lo opens her mouth to debate, but O’Kai’s stern glare mutes her abruptly. She purses her lips and folds her hands in front of herself. O’Kai scans the rest of his council, ensuring there is no further dissent, and defers to the counselor with a nod.

  Again, the pause is welcome; and the counselor relaxes his stance, rounding his shoulders slightly.

  “I understand your position. I really do. You've had a very difficult existence of scarcity and uncertainty, and the reason you do things this way is because they work. Your group is strong and alive. Well, we, too, are strong and alive. What we have done to survive has worked as well. Consider that.”

  The counselor pauses, letting the message sink in. Shao-Lo, Chusan, Ralla, and even quiet Munro nod their heads in, at least, a tacit acceptance. Wrapping up, he adds, “So long as we don’t discount the needs of each other, we can come together, and we can do so without feeling we have given up something important.”

  O’Kai’s head bobs with agreement. “I believe we understand each other. And on this point, we will agree: in combining the DNA of our two groups, we will obtain input for education and occupational determination from the colonist contributors, which will be balanced against the cadre’s most critical needs.”

  Keller nearly bursts with relief. “Thank you, General! I know our people will be much stronger from our joining.”

  “General, one more thing,” the counselor requests.

  O’Kai looks at him with a renewed wariness, almost dreading another request from these familiar looking, yet thoroughly alien people.

  “Yes?”

  The counselor takes a thoughtful look around the room. “I know we're different. Maybe expectin
g us to just immediately understand each other is asking too much too soon. That will have to come with time. Instead, can we end this meeting with the accomplishment that despite our differences, we will make effort to accept each other, as we are?”

  O’Kai smiles and stands to clasp the counselor’s outstretched hand. “I’d like that.”

  On cue, the council officers stand and salute respectfully.

  O’Kai retracts his hand, announcing, “Meeting adjourned!”

  The council officers huddle around their general as he immediately begins issuing orders. Keller and his officers huddle up as well. Keller’s eyebrows rise then fall with a heavy exhale.

  “Jesus!” Gregor exclaims. “Is everything gonna be this hard?”

  Sharon shrugs, her face mirroring the question. Keller turns from his crew and stares at the cadre officers. They are so closely engaged, they do not notice him looking.

  “I've a feeling we’re gonna have to fight with everything we have to keep from getting gobbled up… like puffer fish in a tank full of sharks.”

  The counselor puts a hand on Keller’s shoulder. “Captain, the cadre is a group that has survived by forcefully taking whatever it needs. Today, its general learned the meaning of the word ‘compromise.’ Please don’t belittle that.”

  The counselor steps around Keller, making his way to the other side of the broad table. Gregor sidles up close to his captain.

  “Sir,” he whispers, “why do you let him talk to you like that? If these people see him talking down to you, they may think he’s the boss. Personally, I trust you to look out for us more than I trust him.”

  “I get your point, Gregor...” Keller states glumly, “but I’m no diplomat. I was trained for command of a colony ship, not spanning these cultural chasms.”

  They all turn at once to watch the counselor, how easily he has broken into the cadre officers’ conversation, how receptive they seem to his comments, how comfortable they are having him near.

  “If this was something about the Europa,” Keller explains, “you’re right, I wouldn’t have it, but here... I trust him. His detachment gives him an objectivity I could never have.”

  “With all due respect,” Gregor hisses, “as captain of the Europa and her crew, can you afford to be objective?”

  Keller's eyes gape as he contemplates his subordinate having just lectured him on his duty.

  “I realize, Gregor, you are only making sure I keep perspective on my role as captain, so even though it sounds like a challenge to my authority, I will not take it as such. The counselor has my full confidence, and that'll have to suffice for you as well. Is that clear?”

  Gregor stiffens nervously. “Clear as vodka, sir.”

  Once Keller is sure Gregor understands, he claps him on the back to show there are no hard feelings.

  “Captain!” calls the counselor.

  Keller looks across the table to see the cadre officers and the counselor attentively gazing his way.

  “What is it?”

  “With your permission, I’d like to offer the general a tour of the Europa.”

  Keller scans the faces of his officers. Their wary expressions do not deter him. “Of course!” he replies grandly, “provided the favor is returned.”

  O’Kai nods immediately. “Perhaps seeing how we live will enhance our understanding.”

  The counselor smiles fondly as he alone understands what a huge undertaking it will be to deviate the cadre’s rigid work schedules.

  “Colonel Munro,” O’Kai orders, “take these people wherever they would like to go and ensure their safety. Major Ralla, you will go with the counselor and inspect the Europa. Brick Argo described several items of interest in his report, and I’ll expect your full analysis.”

  Munro and Ralla snap to attention and salute. “Sir!” they reply in unison.

  “But, General,” the counselor questions, “won’t you join us?”

  O’Kai ponders a moment and his mouth curls slightly, somewhat pleased his presence was asked for specifically.

  Shao-Lo leans forward, saying, “Chusan and I could assume your duties over the next three hours.”

  O’Kai frowns thoughtfully. “All right, Counselor. Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  Colonel Munro throws aside a hulking pressure door with his strong arm. Immediately, the hiss, clank, and screech of heavy industry pour out.

  “This is our primary fabrication facility,” he shouts above the din. “Most of our final assembly is completed here.”

  Keller peers past the big man, taking in the total scene of conveyors, sturdy load lifters marching with large metal parts in their grips, arcing sparks, massive automated machines, and, wavering with heat in the background, the foundry. Driving the load lifters are bald humans with metal-capped heads and dark lenses over their eyes. Tall numbers are printed on their armored chests.

  Two load lifters converge at the head of one of the conveyors, carefully placing the parts they carry; and the group watches intently as the parts are pressed together, heated, welded, and bombarded by a high-intensity beam. Sharon, Ortega, and Gregor step from behind Keller to get their own look at the finished frame rolling off the back of the assembly line. One of the load lifters dutifully retrieves it and marches away while the others arrive with more parts for the conveyor.

  “What are you making?” Ortega asks loudly.

  “Some of the ships tethered to Cadre One have been supplying us with power for centuries,” Munro shouts. “In that time, their reactor housings have eroded significantly. These supports will keep them from caving in.”

  Curiosity draws Gregor toward the room, but Munro’s arm drops like a steel gate. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. No access without thermal-impact armor.”

  Gregor blinks and looks into Munro’s stern but friendly face. He nods in understanding, backing away from Munro’s one-man barricade, and the colonel hauls the heavy door shut. With a great clang, the noise of manufacture abates.

  “The next bay is our genetic engineering and incubation facility,” Munro announces in a much calmer tone. “This is where we come from.”

  He leads them down a sleek metal corridor with several rooms and passages branching off from its gently circular path. Stopping at a floor-to-ceiling round door, he inserts a pass key, removes his glove for a handprint panel, stoops close to an eyepiece, then speaks his name and rank into a microphone. The automated security panel switches each identifying LED to green and refers him to a small touch pad where he enters a private password. At last, the security checks are complete, and the tall door sinks back before rolling aside like a giant cog.

  “This way,” Munro announces pleasantly and he steps inside. His guests follow until they catch sight of the door’s profile, which even to guess, is at least a full meter thick.

  “I’d say you’re serious about protecting this room, yes?” Ortega asks rhetorically.

  Munro turns on his heel. “Of course we are. This is our future.” Reaching just to his side, the massive colonel taps a code sequence into a panel, and the giant wheel-door rolls back into position. It halts, then fully recesses into the doorway. The central maglock rotates, extending multiple pistons into place with series of sharp clanks. Room lighting fades out entirely.

  Somewhere ahead of them, a door slides open with a gentle hiss, and Munro beckons the colonists through into darkness beyond. Stepping through, they are greeted by the faint gurgling of fluid in pipes and the soft whirring of many small electric motors. As their eyes adjust they become aware of a dim, omnipresent red glow throughout the room.

  Keller stretches his hands out ahead of him, his eyes beginning to perceive outlines and shapes. The dimensions come into focus, and he finds himself in a room full of floor-to-ceiling cylinders, the middle thirds of which are transparent.

  Sharon steps close to one, gently caressing the plexi-steel, straining to see its contents. Inside, she discovers a thin tether running from the top of the transparent se
ction down to a tiny, bean-shaped object that drifts in invisible currents.

  “Embryos…” she notes aloud.

  “That’s correct,” Munro confirms. “Once we have constructed viable gametes, we selectively pair them, and the ones that begin meiosis, we transfer here.”

  Ortega, Gregor, and Keller follow Sharon’s lead, peering in at the tiny blobs suspended in the cylinder’s fluid.

  "Who will they be?" Sharon wonders aloud.

  "We always hope for Operator class," Munro answers. He holds his dwarfed arm up, contemplating it momentarily in the dim red light. "We don't get many anymore."

  "What do you mean? Why not?" Gregor asks, turning from the cylinder in front of him.

  "No matter what we do, we simply can't shield this room enough from ionizing radiation. Chromosome breakage yields defects that are difficult to manage. Add to that, our DNA is...brittle. No matter how perfectly our engineers design the source product, disorders and mutations during incubation are far too common."

  Munro turns a full circle, peering into the many cylinders surrounding him with the adoring eyes of a gardener inspecting his seedlings.

  "We were reluctant to share this information with you, but now that we have agreed on how to combine our gene pools, well...you can see how much we need you." The huge colonel stands upright and smiles. "With your arrival, we can make significant health gains in our population."

  Keller nods to himself, acknowledging the weight of Munro's words silently. He stands back from the tank before him, again noticing the red glow. Try as he might, he cannot find the source. Munro watches him pan his head about in vain and ends the mystery.

  “We discovered the embryos benefit from modest sensory stimulation as they grow, so we provide visible, tactile, and audible input. The red light is an ambient Holoprojection. For some reason, embryos raised under this hue are slightly healthier than others.”