Migrant Thrive: Thrive Space Colony Adventures Box Set Books 7-9

by Ginger Booth

  “The trees grow fine,” he confirmed. “But they’ll enjoy higher CO2. They do metabolize CO2, and O2 in the roots, just like Earth plants. This should be like a welcome dose of fertilizer.”

  The captain nodded cautiously. “And do we know where this outgassing is?”

  “That’s a mystery,” her climatologist supplied. “I’m observing with our satellites, but the highest CO2 levels seem to be here. I mean, you know, this general area.”

  “Under the ice cap,” Eli corrected her. “Highest concentrations are north of us.”

  Sass blinked. “Where the volcanic ash in the lake maybe came from.”

  “The ash could have come from anywhere north of us, any millennium,” Eli quibbled. “But, yes, that could be. Zelda, anything besides CO2?”

  “Nothing as interesting,” she allowed, “though particulates might be up. The blizzard interferes with my readings. But I had another…I guess you couldn’t call it a breakthrough.”

  Eli rocked his head. “A conceptual breakthrough perhaps.”

  Zelda beamed. From a member of the Mahina University faculty, praise didn’t come any warmer. “Yes, thank you, Eli! Floki and I were playing with the atmospheric models. We came across a fascinating possibility! Floki?”

  The emu shook his beak, eyes wide at the thought of addressing the group.

  “You’re so cute when you’re shy! So, the idea is, it’s possible to set up a standing cyclone in Sylvan’s atmosphere! Just like the permanent storms on Pono!” Her flush of triumph was unmistakable.

  No, I was never that young and exuberant. I was born cynical. “You lost me,” Sass admitted.

  “Oh, the idea is that if we made a stationary cyclone, really tall, and it would need to be.” Eli cleared his throat, to suggest she focus. “Then we could terraform within the cyclone, without disrupting the planetary atmosphere as a whole.” Eli nodded approval at her redirect. Encouraged, she plowed onward. “So we could choose a smaller continent, or maybe even the big island chain, and terraform just a piece of Sylvan!”

  “Without disrupting the pre-existing species or climate,” Eli mused, staring at Zan.

  Zan had frozen. His expression was inscrutable, but clearly not happy. Kaol appeared dismayed. Tikki Cook fled to help Clay with the soy burgers.

  Zelda sailed blithely on. “Well, of course they’d all die within the terraforming zone. So maybe the archipelago would be a poor choice. Islands tend to develop such unique species.”

  Sass was far more curious about the Denali reaction, but Zelda deserved attention and praise. “A much smaller volume of atmosphere to convert. That would be much quicker than terraforming say, Mahina, right?”

  “Well, no,” Zelda corrected her. “Because the small continent has more land area and atmosphere than all of Mahina. Though there’s more water to work with. It would probably take about the same, hundred-fifty years.”

  Zan blew out a sigh of relief.

  Tikki frowned. “Mahina isn’t done yet?”

  “Not quite,” Zelda agreed. “It was supposed to be finished by now, but that was before we added so many people and livestock, which delayed completion another 20 years. By then the atmospheric coating should permit clouds! Maybe even rain 40 years from now. It’s very exciting.”

  Sass laid down her cutlery. “This is immense, Zelda. It suggests we’re going about colonizing this planet the wrong way.”

  “There’s that other problem,” Eli prompted.

  Zelda supplied, “Oh, the energy cost. Yeah, starting up that cyclone would take… Well, as much energy as Spaceways would need to generate the bigger warp gateway. Meaning, more power than we know how to make. Except via thermonuclear cataclysm. Which would sort of cancel out the advantages of localizing the change. But if Teke ever figures out how to power that gateway, then.”

  Eli noted, “Teke will power his gate in space. You’d be screwing up a living planet.”

  Darren volunteered, “Even if such power generation didn’t spew poisonous by-products, it would generate an immense amount of waste heat.”

  “I calculated that,” Floki replied, then recoiled when everyone turned to look at him.

  Zelda nodded emphatically. “But that’s actually a benefit. Floki estimates the added energy to the planetary system would make the polar caps recede a few degrees, and raise sea levels a few meters. But well within the resilience of these ecosystems. Right, Eli?”

  He took a judicious sip of water. “A fascinating possibility. Well done, Zelda, Floki.”

  Sass considered asking how one created a standing cyclone, once the outrageous power wrinkle was ironed out. But no one cared. She’d shown her geeks enough attention. So instead she raised her glass. “To Zelda and Floki and the…terraforming standing cyclone! Did I get that right?” The crew politely drank to the toast.

  Did the Denali look relieved that no one could generate enough power? Perhaps. Which was interesting and also wrong, in Sass’s estimation. When last they’d spoken, Teke seemed convinced he’d found the crucial insight that could scale up his warp gateway. But her immediate concern wasn’t so cosmic. This planet was deadly enough. But clearly saboteurs were in play.

  The captain asked Floki to meet with her and Clay after supper. With his camera dots everywhere, their pristine new world enjoyed surveillance levels not seen since the authoritarian regimes of the last century on Earth.

  30

  “Floki!” Sass said warmly, waving him in to bird-squat at the end of her desk. She and Clay just spent the past half hour comparing notes on the colony sabotage incidents. “We’d like your help investigating some troubling events.”

  “What kind of help?” The bird’s expression was open and eager.

  “You have camera dots on many of the hunters, and scattered throughout the camp. We’re hoping you can review your video footage and find who might have cut some tent lines.”

  “No.” The emu’s open beak pressed shut and eyelids lowered. “I am not a rat fink.”

  “Excuse me?” Clay asked.

  “Nico explained that surveillance cameras can be used to spy on people. And that’s bad. That would make me a rat fink. Schuyler folk despise a rat fink.”

  Sass cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “Cooperating with the authorities doesn’t necessarily make you a rat fink. For instance –”

  “Yes, if I’m in doubt, I should discuss it with Nico,” Floki allowed. “But I would not crime someone for pranking a tent.”

  “You saw them prank the tent,” Sass accused.

  Floki tilted his head. “I no longer have that footage. I did not identify the people who did it.”

  “Crewman, some of these ‘pranks’ endanger people’s lives. And Clay and myself are the authorities. We are not evil.”

  “Neither am I. I am a good bird.”

  “Let’s try a different case,” Clay suggested. “Today we found our med-bay paramycocide solution was substituted with onion juice.”

  Floki giggled. Sass and Clay pursed their lips at him. “I would call that a prank, too, sar. But I didn’t see it.”

  Sass leveled a firm stare at him. “Floki, adulterating medical supplies is a serious offense against one’s crewmates. And we haven’t checked all the other medications. How many more have been adulterated? Tikka Gena is ill, and now must waste a day testing them all. I understand the…rat fink concern. But there is a line.”

  Floki lowered his beak, contrite. “Your ship AI monitors med bay, not me.”

  Sass winced. “Computer, how long do you keep camera footage in med bay?”

  “All cameras are on a 72-hour cycle,” the computer replied evenly.

  She knew that. Well, she’d forgotten the number of hours. But the ship only had so much storage capacity, and rather a lot of cameras. She glanced over the emu’s body. Likely this was true of Floki as well. “How long do you remember video feeds?”

  “I review them as a continuous process for anything worth keeping. And store
selected clips externally on the ship computer. My on-board capacity is limited. Like a person.”

  “I see. Crewman, some pranks endanger the mission. And people’s lives. Please tell me or Clay if you see anything problematic. That’s not finking. That’s being a team player.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Floki unbent his legs to loom over them. “Is that all, sar?”

  “Not quite.” Sass noticed her voice came too close to a growl, and amended her tone. “We placed camera dots on the lake platform, Sylvan Two. May I see your video of that, please? I want to see how it weathered the storm.”

  Floki extruded a slender data appendage from his breast between his arm apertures, and touched the desk. This displayed a video clip, aimed diagonally across the floating platform in blowing snow. “We call this one an otter.” An agile blubbery creature clambered on, nosed around, then slipped back into the turquoise lake. Floki switched clips. “And this was a crocodile visit. Those were from the afternoon we left. I no longer have active cameras. They fell off the poles in the storm.”

  “So we don’t know the status of Sylvan Two,” Clay concluded.

  “No, sar.”

  “Thank you, crewman, dismissed,” Sass said. “And Floki? Please know that we are alarmed by the ‘pranks.’ If you were to tell us something in confidence, we wouldn’t snitch on you.”

  The emu nodded, and withdrew.

  “Terrific,” Clay noted. “Our AI crewman has a Schuyler Jailbird value system. Nico as well.”

  “So do Cope and Ben,” Sass reminded him in fairness. “But we trust their judgment. Mostly.” About as often as she trusted her own judgment.

  “Time for plain old police work, then,” Clay said. “We have…no leads. Some leads. About 60 people have stepped foot on Thrive since we left MO. The onion juice never left the ship.”

  “And 300 had access to the tent lines,” Sass noted sourly. “But the sliced cables…back to 60. Not much of a lead.”

  “No, we’ll need to narrow it down. Can we rule out the crew?”

  Sass considered her reservations. “I’m confident of Eli and Zelda. You and me. Nico and Darren.” Reluctantly she admitted, “I’m not sure any of our Denali crew is above suspicion. I used to admire their community spirit. But their politics are a problem. And Floki… I want to trust him. But.”

  Clay sighed hugely. “Yet you’ll let him talk to Loki? Sass, maybe you should heed Ben’s suggestion. That we won’t stand between Floki and his grandsire, but not now. Or,” he added more softly, “acknowledge that you still hold a grudge against Shiva. And you’re afraid that Loki is just Shiva with a friendlier avatar.”

  She nodded slowly. “I don’t trust me on Loki. Or Floki by extension. He’s an appealing young personality. But.”

  Clay sat back and folded one leg up. “I trust them both. Not blindly. But within reason. Enough for a conversation, anyway. I bet neither of them put onion juice in the paramycocide. Not their style.”

  Sass chuckled. “Point.”

  “Sass, we’re cops. But Tarana leads the community, not us. Another way of looking at the crime wave issue. Or prank wave, depending on one’s rat fink quotient.”

  “I’ll buy that,” she conceded. “But only if it doesn’t endanger my ship.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Clay, I’ve got a bad feeling. Maybe it’s just nerves, that our backup is unavailable this week.”

  Overnight the blizzard blew itself out. Warm summer winds returned from the south. Since the storm deposited a meter of snow, drifting to chest-high, that meant Sylvan One was a giant slush bowl. Sass got a great workout just wading across the yard to Darren’s latest woodworks.

  “Ready to check on Sylvan Two today, chief?” She’d asked at breakfast and got an eager ‘Sure!’ On her comms two hours later, prospects downgraded to ‘Maybe.’ So she wasn’t entirely surprised by the noon forecast.

  “No, I don’t think so.” He stood on his workshop platform, which dripped snowmelt like a beaded curtain along its edge. He gazed down at a wooden form below.

  “What are you making?” To Sass, it looked like a Viking longship, only shorter. Or a large dinghy. “A boat?”

  “There’s not much point to a lake city without boats,” he noted. “But this is the mold, not the boat. My concept is to make stackable resin dinghies. Lightweight. Easy to store on the platform, and deploy to use.”

  “Clever,” Sass allowed. Darren was on a campaign to switch construction to resin wherever possible. The nonstop nail guns ran through his steel printer stock too quickly. “But don’t we want to see the platform first? They can fish from the platform.”

  “Uh, this is the emergency evacuation system.”

  “Ah. Yes. They need that to stay overnight.”

  “Quite. Oh, good! We’re ready to pour the first resin. Excuse me.”

  He hopped down to position his workforce, bearing squishy bags of the sawdust composite, oozing with pinkish-orange tree sap. The techs’ noses still oozed orange from the nasal spray as well, creating an odd color harmony. Directly below, one woman at the prow stood armed with the anticoagulant to serve two bag-bearers. These dumped the fiberglass-like gummy stuff while the woman spritzed her solution to prolong the resin’s pliability.

  Sass was impressed with the dexterity and craftsmanship of this trio. She took a seat on the slush and dangled her feet to watch.

  The stuff didn’t pour too well. Soon a tech sliced the bags open. Their neat application turned to blob-and-smear, one hanging over the gunwale to push pink stuff into the low point of the fairly flat keel, like spreading pizza dough.

  Then it looked more like spreading putty, and an increasingly stiff putty at that.

  “Work faster!” Darren yelled at them. “No finesse! Get as much coverage as you can before it hardens!”

  The team under her feet seemed to be succeeding, soon covering the entire bow with a thick coat. But the middle team on the left fought with a big blob that barely spread.

  “Sass!” Darren yelled urgently. She hopped down and trotted to him. “Smell this!” He thrust a bottle of the anticoagulant at her, the stuff that kept the resin from hardening the moment it touched the high-oxygen air.

  She pursed her lips at him, but clearly he was in a rush. So she took a deep breath and held it. Then she unsealed and removed her helmet to give a quick spritz inside. Then she quickly sealed herself back in, and let out her breath, dreading the inhale, sure to reek of turpentine or something.

  Except it didn’t. “Water. It smells like water. Maybe a trace of something extra.”

  “Dammit!” Darren yelled. He dropped the bottle to the ground and stomped it. “Mila, need your bottle here!”

  The stern spritzer arrived on the bounce and spritzed the giant lump. Then a hunter leaned in and tried to slice open the outer hardening skin. This was partly successful. They did manage to dole out some stiff goop from the inside of the blob, but they couldn’t dislodge the blob itself, its outer skin already set. And the hull coating was much thinner on this side.

  Worse, what kept the hull from sticking to the wooden mold was more of the same solvent. The resin boat was stuck to the wooden form on this side.

  “Maybe tomorrow, cap,” Darren said grimly. “Someone sabotaged my resin. Damn them to rego hell!”

  “Will it float?” Sass asked.

  Darren flung up his hands in outrage, then dropped them. “Yes. Yes, it will float.”

  “Then your boat-builders know how to start over without you. And we’ve got a boat. The lump kind of makes a seat.”

  Darren slapped his helmet in anguish. “The seats! Hurry!”

  The technicians hastily stuck the smoothed boards in where they belonged. But they needed another bag of resin, cautiously applied with the good solvent bottles, to anchor them into place. They also formed some oarlocks and tie-off cleats around the rim. Then with the remainder of that bag, plus another, they reinforced the keel and the malformed thin left section
.

  “Nice boat, chief,” Sass praised. “We leave in ten. Get a harness around this to bring it with us.”

  “Aye, cap,” he growled. “Look alive there! Ropes – test them first! And the net under the keel!”

  “Don’t forget the oars,” Sass teased.

  He cast his gaze around and yelled, “Where did the oars go?”

  It took more like an hour. But finally Thrive plucked up their odd new boat, and flew slowly toward Melt Lake, the hunter team once again riding on the ramp outside.

  The hunters wanted to ride in the boat. Sass vetoed the suggestion.

  She flew past the forest until the vast turquoise and blue expanse of Melt Lake spread before them, a fog bank of mystery shrouding the base of its glacier in the distance. The lake glittered in the summer sun amidst slush-mounded trees. Sass adored the extraordinary colors of this lake. She slowed as they flew clockwise to approach the Sylvan Two inlet from the water. They passed the last tall headland and it came into view.

  Out of eight poles, only three remained upright. One canted from its original position, and another stood with its top half broken off, still attached. The other three were gone.

  Yet the platform floated where they left it, intact.

  31

  Sass clunked down to the platform first, Clay and Darren using slightly less gravity. Much to Zan’s annoyance, she’d left him above piloting the ship, and assigned Nico to stand by with the shuttle. The wind blew light today from the glacier.

  She scraped some slush from the deck surface with the edge of her boot, finding it came away easily. The surface below seemed sound, not too slick. Another thunk and Clay was down. Darren zeroed in safely over the platform. That established, she strode toward the glacier end poles, her boots tapping percussion while lapping waves gurgled below, between the foundation tree trunks that acted like pontoons.

  These two mooring poles stood strong. One of the two beyond bent toward her, and the other was gone.

  As expected, the two carbon cables she and Darren used to reinforce the ropes were still tied tight. The wooden fenders between platform and pole, cross-sections from trees, looked a bit chewed from the storm. But that was to be expected.