Aaron exchanged grins with Terrell. “I didn't do anything,” he answered Merant. “No threats were needed. Terrell's a good man!"
Merant walked away, shaking his head.
* * * *
Aaron and Cinthi decided to spend the first day of the Thirteenth Week holidays at the park. Musical sounds were in the air, a cacophony of various Christmas carols and other cheerful folk songs that somehow blended together pleasantly. Everyone in the park was in costume, most with Christmas themes, some with Hanukah themes. Aaron and Cinthi were dressed as elves, with pointy hats and curly-toed shoes. They sat close to where he and his unit had cooked and eaten their after-work picnic.
Merant and his wife Celene, along with Sam Spruill and his wife, Anna, were sitting in lawn chairs discussing their plans for the day. Up over their heads, on the opposite side of the ship, they could see a baseball game being played between bearded Santas and toga-wearing Maccabbees. They had to keep an eye out for a pop-up or home run crossing to their side of the ship. Effective apparent “escape velocity” from the inner surface of the rotating cylinder of the ship was thirty-two feet per second—and a batted ball could exceed two-forty, if it were really tagged. The slight danger posed by the ship-wide ricochets added to the thrill and fun, all a part of the Magellan tradition. After all, they were each one children of mutineers, right?
Aaron noticed an older, dark-haired man walking up to their group, smiling. It took a moment for Aaron to recognize him. He remembered about the same time the man held out his hand and announced himself.
"Aaron Land, I'm Mark Terrell, Matthew's dad. I just wanted to thank you for the way you took Mat under your wing a few days ago. I know at times he can be a bit of a handful, but you must have done something right. He's been talking about you in glowing terms ever since."
The praise made him feel a little embarrassed, but at the same time it gave him pleasure to receive such praise in front of his wife and friends. Especially Merant, who had given up on the lad. Aaron hid an amused smile at Merant's dazed look.
A moment later he remembered some outstanding details concerning the man before him. This was the man widely regarded as the smartest in the crew. No wonder his son had shown such a marked sense of self-confidence! If he had half of his father's I.Q., he was head and shoulders above most kids his own age in competence and presence of mind.
"I could see he was ready to be given a looser rein, so I just let him do what he was able to do. And he did a good job with everything he did. He wound up helping me with the younger kids."
Terrell nodded. “Do you have children of your own? Oh, I'm sorry,” he added quickly, noting the cloud that passed over Aaron's expression. He touched his finger to his temple. It was obvious he was reading the information about their first child, Aria, being committed to stasis so recently. He dipped his head again, sympathetically.
Aaron passed over it, and said, “My dad taught me that all kids are different—some require a tight rein, while others with a more independent spirit need to be given their lead, so to speak. It is the latter kind who become the leaders of the future, the ones who can change the world, if you can just give them the right kind of guidance and enabling."
Terrell nodded respectful agreement. “I will remember that. Your dad was wise. Is he still among us?"
"No, he went into stasis a couple of years ago. I have an infant brother who is in stasis, and he wanted to be able to raise him when the time comes."
"For Awakening,” Terrell added, the capital evident in his tone. “I have a daughter in stasis. I hoped she could be awakened when my wife died."
Aaron remembered then, the bitter controversy when Marlene Terrell had been killed in a construction accident in space, and Mark had petitioned the council to allow their daughter to come out of stasis, since the death of his wife theoretically created an opening in the population quota. He had been denied on the basis of the unofficial First Law of Parenting: “Never let them outnumber you.” The “law” had begun as a mere witticism a few generations back, but somehow had become hardened into policy.
"You got a raw deal,” Aaron offered.
The older man sighed. “Many of us get a raw deal.” Then he looked up, and there was a spark of something—defiance?—in his eyes. “Maybe a change is in order."
That called to mind another datum: Mark Terrell had become one of the most outspoken advocates of the Save Our Children campaign. Could he have been involved in hacking into the power control system a week ago, when the lights flickered? If anyone could do it, he certainly could.
"Hey, look over there!” exclaimed Celene Merant. Everyone looked to see where she was pointing. It took a moment for the incongruous sight to register: Ten, maybe twelve animals were prancing through and around the circle of the park bleating joyously, accompanied by scattered shouts, shrieks—some of them gleeful—and even laughter. The animals were somewhat deer-like, or goat-like, but with curlier hair and long necks. They were too small to be camels.
"What are they?” Cinthi asked.
"They look like llamas,” Spruill answered in his breathy, tenor voice.
Aaron had not realized the ship had llamas in stasis. He knew a wide variety of animals were stored that way, about a dozen of each species.
"Llama-burgers on the hoof,” Terrell said blandly.
They all stared at him, aghast.
A wry, knowing grin twisted his lips. “Well, then there'd be room for twelve more of our kids to be placed in stasis, places we might need before the Pitcairn Island is ready."
With a sinking feeling, Aaron figured his involvement in the Save Our Children demonstrations was all but confirmed. Cinthi evidently figured Terrell was in on it, too. She questioned sharply, “How many animals would you wipe out? All the ones in stasis? Leaving the colonists with nothing to start out?"
The older man did not deny her implicit assumption. He just waved his hand and said, “We still have thousands of zygotes in stasis, and eighteen artificial gestator/incubators. The colonists can still raise their flocks and herds. It will just take them longer to get them going. They can live on vat-cultured meat tissues like we do for a few extra years. Having twelve living specimens for each species was a superfluous back-up."
"Twenty-four or more,” Aaron corrected. “They're all pregnant females."
Terrell's smile vanished, and his jaw muscles tensed. He could not deny how bad it sounded that pregnant females might be killed. It had been ingrained in the human consciousness for millennia: Even hunters, hunting for food, did not knowingly kill pregnant females.
Suddenly the air was filled with a deafening sound Aaron had never heard before. An alarm klaxon. It was being sounded physically throughout the ship, not just transmitted via neural implants.
Everyone in the park seemed to jump and look around, in a near panic. The ball game above their heads stopped abruptly. Was the alarm just because of a handful of llamas running around? He frowned. No, that would not make sense. It must be something else. A quick survey with his com implant told him that an urgent message was being signaled on the council channel. Accessing it, he immediately heard shouts and screams—and what were those loud popping sounds?
A female voice overrode the sounds echoing in the council chamber. It must have been someone hiding in an adjacent room, using the council's com controls. The voice was panicky. “Security! We need all security, the whole force! Armed people are taking control of the council room. They have guns. They're shooting! The council is not in session, and there's just a standby staff. We're all unarmed!” The voice hesitated, broke. She swallowed, then added, “They have shot down the security guards who were stationed at the access doors to the colonist sleeper holds, and a bunch of people with guns are rushing in there. There are dozens of them! Oh, no—someone is breaking in the door here—” This was followed by muffled shouts, and a crash, followed by louder shouts, a scream, then a click. The channel went silent. A moment later, the alarm klaxon went sile
nt as well. A deathly silence hung over the ship.
Aaron looked around. Judging by the dazed expressions, he figured everyone else had caught the transmission on the council channel, too. Then he swung his head slowly around to fix his gaze on Terrell. He found his voice and demanded coldly, “Are you a part of this?"
Terrell raised one hand halfway, a futile, helpless, confused gesture. “I—no, no! Not this! They weren't supposed to do this!"
Merant chimed in: “Do you know about the guns? How'd they get all those guns?"
When Terrell was slow to answer, Aaron filled in the obvious. “They probably diverted some nanotech resources to manufacturing guns and ammo. All you have to do is program those things, give them enough raw materials, and they'll make anything you want. They probably did it out on the Pitcairn Island, or maybe on one of the small asteroid work platforms, then smuggled them back in here!"
In a few places throughout the park, scattered individuals were jumping up and rushing off. They must be members of the security force, heading home to pick up their weapons. But what could they do? Wives were calling after them to come back. There were less than a dozen total members of the crew's official security force. And it was a long way on foot to reach the section of the ship where the offices, control rooms, and holds began.
A numb feeling gripped him as he realized this was historic. A second mutiny! And it was one that would doubtless succeed!
"What are they going to do?” Cinthi asked.
Terrell did not answer.
"They're going to kill colonists in stasis, aren't they?” Aaron thundered.
Terrell closed his eyes, and his head sank. “They used us,” he said softly. “They used me,” he added even more softly, then sobbed.
"It seemed like a clever prank. Hack the control system software, let loose a few animals. That's all it was supposed to be!” Terrell's tone pleaded for understanding, sympathy.
He got nothing of the kind in the faces of the people before him.
A moment later Merant murmured, “A diversion."
Aaron nodded at him, silently. Then he took a deep breath and declared, “We can't allow this. We can't allow all our future generations to know our community, our civilization, is based on wholesale murder—murder of innocent sleepers in stasis!"
Spruill frowned. “We can't allow this? How can we stop it?"
Celene Merant ventured to say, “Maybe we can get everyone to join together, let the attackers know that the whole crew is opposed to what they're doing it."
Aaron shrugged, thinking, Good luck with that! There was another idea that came to his mind, something that might actually work. But it was drastic. So drastic, he was not sure he wanted to discuss it openly in front of all the others. They might waste time by arguing against it. Instead he pulled Terrell aside and said, “You need to get out of here—and I need to talk to you."
Terrell's gaze swept around, taking in the people in the park, and did not need to be told why he needed to get out of sight. He was a known advocate of Save Our Children.
"Let's go to my house,” Aaron urged. “Everyone knows where you live.” As the two men started out at a trot, the fastest Aaron could move wearing his silly elf shoes, he asked, “Where is Matthew?"
"At home. I told him to stay at home."
Aaron tapped on his temple and said, “Call him. Tell him to meet us at my house."
Terrell nodded.
"Wait—where are you going?” Cinthi demanded fearfully. She started running after them. “Those men have guns—"
Aaron realized she must think he was running off to be a hero and try to physically confront the armed attackers. Her concern—and the fact that she thought he might consider doing that—made him smile. “Just heading home,” he assured her. “We've got to get Mark out of sight before he's mobbed. Come on."
As they trotted along, the balloon-bells were chiming frenzied snatches of melody, and at least one main carillon was pouring out the grand sound of massed choir and symphonic orchestra performing the “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel's Messiah. This Thirteenth Week holiday had descended into madness!
At last Aaron closed the door behind them and was relieved to see there was no mob following them. There was an anxious moment when a knock sounded at the door. But it was young Terrell, whom Aaron welcomed, and pulled inside hastily, shutting the door again. The young man stood there silently, regarding his father questioningly.
Aaron faced the elder Terrell. “We've got one chance to stop the slaughter. It all depends on whether you can still hack into the control systems."
Terrell pressed his lips together, reluctant to answer.
"Look, the attackers are trying to kill fifty thousand people with handguns. That takes time. They can't just run up and down the aisles, shooting into the stasis fields, because the bullets will just stop, and the kinetic energy will drain away from them. So they have to proceed one at a time, shutting off the stasis field, then killing the occupant before he comes fully alert. Even if there are as many as fifty gunmen, it will take hours."
"So we've got some time,” Terrell concluded, then gave a half shrug.
"So if you can hack in and turn off all the stasis fields, release all fifty thousand people at once, they'll be able to defend themselves."
Cinthi sucked in her breath at this. Then after a moment, she observed doubtfully, “I've heard there are some colonists with cyborg enhancements. But what is super-strength against guns?"
Aaron nodded vaguely. “There's something we've been keeping quiet—so people would not get upset. But some of the colonists have full military cyborg enhancements—including implanted weapons systems, plasma guns and the like."
The others stared at him in shock, then mounting looks of dread. He eyed Terrell levelly. “Can you do it?"
Terrell looked downward and reflected for a moment, then gave a slight nod. “If I can get in—if the attackers haven't completely closed off the system. Yes, I could do that,” he admitted.
Then he looked up and locked gazes with Aaron. “You do know what that would mean."
Aaron regarded him somberly, and glanced to one side for a moment to include the younger Terrell. “It would prevent a mass murder of all the colonists. And consider this: If we do nothing and all the colonists are wiped out, then those armed attackers would return. They would not submit peaceably to the authority of the council. They would have to impose a virtual military dictatorship on all of us, or else face summary judgment for their crimes. They've already killed crew."
Terrell said softly, “I know that.” Then he repeated, louder, “But do you know what else it would mean?"
Aaron was slow to reply, and the full consequences began to unfold in his mind.
It was Cinthi who answered. “If the colonists are all brought out of stasis, they would find out about the mutinies. Both of them. And then we would not only be out-voted, we would be out-gunned."
He stated slowly and distinctly, “But the only alternative is to stand by and allow the mass-murder of fifty thousand innocent people. We can't do that!"
Terrell looked at his son, silently inviting him to speak. Young Terrell looked up at his father and said, “We have to stop them, Dad—no matter what it takes. I don't want us to be ruled over by murderers."
The elder Terrell nodded.
"So will you do it?” Aaron pressed him.
"Maybe. When I hacked in before, I created a back door, like any competent hacker would do. Of course, they probably know about that one, since they would expect it and look for it.” He grinned. “But I doubt they know about the other way I can get in—it is much more indirect. A flaw in the original programming that no one else noticed."
"Can you do it here, or do you need to go to some special console somewhere?"
"I can try it here. My com implant is a bit more robust than the standard model.” With that he bowed his head, put a finger to his temple, and closed his eyes.
Long, uncomfor
table minutes passed by. Beads of sweat appeared on Terrell's forehead.
Finally he heaved a shuddering sigh and looked up. “They tried to block off access, including the back door I created. But they didn't know about the other way in—it involves routing through the monitoring module for the nanotech programming system on the Pitcairn Island.” He took another heavy breath. “It's done. The stasis fields for all the colonists have been turned off, and the controls are locked."
Aaron and Cinthi took each other's hands, and they waited. Terrell put his arm around his son's shoulder, holding him close. And they waited.
And they waited.
* * * *
Aaron and Cinthi sat side-by-side, holding hands. Their daughter, Aria, sat on the floor playing with her daughter, Leah—their granddaughter. The cloud-streaked green-blue sky of Covenant shone through the windows.
The time had finally come when the planetary ruling council announced that the Pitcairn Island was finished, and any who wanted to—including the former crew of the Magellan—were welcome to become citizens of the permanent space city. The Magellan was also ready for new colonists and a new crew to set out for a more distant star.
But Aria, like many of the children of the former crew of the Magellan, having grown up planetside, decided she preferred to stay in the environment she was used to, where all her friends lived. Cinthi was unwilling to be parted from her daughter and granddaughter, and that decided Aaron as well.
Leah said she was hungry, so Aria took her by the hand and they went into the kitchen.
Aaron looked at Cinthi. “Some people say the name has religious connotations. But I think they named the world ‘Covenant’ as a slap at us."
Cinthi nodded. “Because we didn't live up to ours.” Then she smiled, mischievously. “But I like our private name for it."
Aaron did not say it out loud, but he mouthed the words: “Botany Bay."
His wife shrugged resignedly, and repeated the old saying with a wry smile, “Consequences of the mutiny."
Analog SFF, May 2008 Page 20