The Redwood Trilogy Box Set

by Jaxon Reed

  “It’s beautiful.”

  I agreed. “All my life I’ve been trying to get away from here, and over to where you all were. But yeah, I gotta admit. This is a breathtaking view.”

  -+-

  Three months later the triplets, Dee Dee and I were on a spaceship bound for New Texas. The fighting had died down, and New Texas A&M controlled the entire planet. Governor Prince’s secret compound was uncovered and attacked. He died in the fighting. The planet was now at peace, and completely under the University charter.

  We’d received news that all of us had been accepted into New Texas A&M, and in light of our contributions to the revolution we’d receive full scholarships. “Veterans’ benefits,” they’d called it.

  Connie received an acceptance letter and scholarship, too, but she decided to stay home at least a year. She also considered virtual enrollment, which would be possible now that we didn’t have to be careful with our communications between the Ranger station and New Texas.

  I think she really wanted to avoid a month on a spaceship with all of us, especially Dee Dee and me.

  Jason gulped down a can of naval beer, then let out a long and hearty belch.

  “Lovely,” Dee Dee said.

  “Tasteless beer demands tasteless burps, Dee Dee. You know what this stuff needs? Some of Rustin’s Redwood Red Eye.”

  Arthur Rustin was a crop Scientist back on Redwood. On the side, his hobby involved distilling grain liquor. Some of the bottles of 3RE, as he called them, were approaching 15 years old. I’d tried a sip or two back at Ranger Station Alpha, but never cared much for it.

  “If you say so.”

  I’d shown the triplets my hacker board trick with the beer dispenser, a vulnerability which had still not been closed after all this time. Maybe nobody else had exploited it, and no other beers had been stolen. Out of bureaucratic sight, out of bureaucratic mind, I guess.

  The triplets were impressed by the trick, and proceeded to empty the machine of all its beer over the course of our trip. Jason swigged the last beer the machine had to offer, crumpled the can and tossed it into the recycle bin.

  “Entering New Texas airspace. Would you like the tourist channel?”

  Jeremy winked at us. “No thanks, computer. I’ll handle it.”

  The spaceship shuddered a bit as it bumped into the atmosphere.

  “I’ve been reading up on New Texas. Okay, so you’ve got five continents. Each continent has a major city. New Austin, the capitol of course. Then there’s New Houston, New Dallas, New Fort Worth, and New San Antonio. That about rounds out the “new” cities, except for New Bryan which is on the same continent as New Austin and where New Texas A and M is.”

  I’d been reading a little history, too.

  “I thought the original Texas A and M was in a city called College Station.”

  Jeremy nodded.

  “True. But the original town Texas A and M was built near was called Bryan. College Station was just a train stop. Over time, a smaller town built up around the campus, and they later incorporated as a city, naming it after the train stop. As even more time went by, College Station grew bigger than Bryan as Texas A and M grew bigger.

  “But when setting up New Texas A and M, the founders decided to name the surrounding city New Bryan. In a nod to the old train stop, the spaceport is named College Station.”

  “Makes sense.”

  We watched the planet below as we dipped down toward the clouds, then through the clouds. Water gave way to land. We dropped lower and saw the tell-tale signs of civilization: fields, towns, highways. Slower and slower, lower and lower, until the spaceport came into view.

  “Uh, guys . . . looks like there’s a lot of people here.”

  Jason was right. Crowds swarmed the perimeter of our landing pad.

  The spaceship came to a smooth halt, bumping slightly as it sat down. The airlock popped open and the computer said, “Please enjoy your stay in New Texas!”

  We peered out cautiously. A nearby sign read, “College Station Spaceport. Welcome to New Aggieland!”

  Hordes of people surrounded the pad. Armed security personnel stood guard, keeping people behind a line set up around the perimeter. A platform with a podium stood on the opposite side. A military band stood at attention.

  “I’ll go see what’s up,” Jason said.

  He stepped out of the spaceship. Somebody at the podium with a microphone said over a loudspeaker, “It’s . . . one of the O’Donnell triplets!”

  The crowd roared in approval.

  Bemused, Jason walked a few more steps toward the podium. Everybody jumped up and down, screaming, whooping, whistling.

  With each step, Jason gained more confidence, deciding that they really were cheering for him after all. He stopped in the middle of the landing pad, raised both hands clasped over his head, shaking them. The crowd went wild. Photo lights flashed.

  Jacob elbowed Jeremy in the ribs. “Are we gonna stand here and let him receive all the glory?”

  Together the other two boys exited the spaceship and started waving at the crowd.

  “It’s the other two O’Donnell triplets! Let’s give them a warm New Texas welcome!”

  They walked over where Jason stood, waving, giving thumbs up.

  A crush of young girls nearly overwhelmed a security guard as they scrambled to get to the boys.

  “Back! Back! Everybody stay behind the line!”

  He popped a couple of them in the face with his baton and the girls fell back into the crowd.

  Dee Dee and I looked at each other, shrugged, and exited the craft holding hands.

  “It’s Diane Fremont and Marcus Savitch, everyone! The heroes of Redwood!”

  A group of girls squealed and sang out to me, frantically waving their hands.

  “Marcus! Marcus! Over here! Marcus!”

  Photo lights flashed, and I noted vid cams in the crowd.

  “Diane! Look over here Diane!”

  “Smile for the cams!”

  “Miss Fremont, can we have an interview?”

  About this time a large tall man came from the podium area over to us. He wore a business suit, had almond-shaded skin, dark hair, and a huge smile.

  “Welcome, welcome! I am President Antonio Montoya. Welcome to New Aggieland! Come with me up to the podium.”

  We followed him. The crowd kept cheering, the photo lights kept flashing.

  When we reached the platform, President Montoya presented us with a wave of his hand, and said in the mic, “Ladies and gentlemen . . . I present to you . . . the heroes of Redwood!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers. The band started playing “The Spirit of Aggieland,” and everyone sang along.

  Some may boast of prowess bold

  Of the school they think so grand

  But there’s a spirit can ne’er be told

  It’s the Spirit of Aggieland

  We are the Aggies, the Aggies are we

  True to each other as Aggies can be

  We’ve got to fight boys

  We’ve got to fight!

  We’ve got to fight for Maroon and White

  After they’ve boosted all the rest

  Then they will come and join the best

  For we are the Aggies, the Aggies so true

  We’re from Texas A M New!

  After the song, somebody in the crowd started chanting, “Speech! Speech! Speech!”

  Soon the whole crowd picked it up. President Montoya looked at us with eyebrows raised. Jason pushed me toward him, so I walked the rest of the way up to the podium.

  The crowd quieted immediately. I looked out at thousands of eyes looking back at me. Photo lights flashed. I gulped. I’d never given a speech before.

  But I’d done some reading on the trip over, and I knew how to start a speech at New Texas A&M. Somewhere, somebody had said to always start a speech there by saying, “Howdy, Ags!” and end it by saying, “Gig ’em!”

  I had no idea why. “Howdy” seeme
d like a provincial greeting, so it kind of made sense, but why a speech had to begin with it, I was clueless. And I was equally mystified as to what “gig ’em” meant.

  Oh well. When in Rome and all that.

  I bent my head to the mic and said, “Howdy, Ags!”

  The crowd roared in approval, for a solid minute. More photo lights flashed.

  President Montoya bent down and murmured in my ear, “Keep going, Marcus. You’re doing great. This is being broadcast all over the planet.”

  I gulped, and decided the President’s confidence building skills were sorely lacking. But I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly before approaching the mic again.

  “On behalf of all of us, I want to thank you for welcoming us here today. We did not expect this kind of a reception. It’s heartening, and humbling at the same time.”

  I paused. I had the crowd’s full attention.

  Somewhere a girl yelled out, “We love you, Marcus!”

  I nodded in her general direction to show appreciation, then continued.

  “We were introduced as ‘the heroes of Redwood.’ We appreciate that. Thank you for acknowledging our part in the University Revolution. But we’re not the real heroes of Redwood. That honor belongs to people like Scientist David Ng and his wife Susan, and Professor Milton Kalinowski. These researchers gave their lives to free Redwood from the State.

  “And before they shed their blood for the Revolution, they gave their lives to research on Redwood. They toiled in secret for years. Scientist Ng observed the giant trees on Redwood for nearly two decades. With his death, the Janus String’s most knowledgeable person of those wonderful trees is gone.

  “Professor Kalinowski likewise spent years on crop experiments, gaining valuable data and expanding our understanding of the unique agricultural environment Redwood has, and its potential benefits for people living on all the planets in the string.”

  Mentally, I’d decided it wouldn’t be prudent to bring up what kind of crops the good Professor experimented on, so I left out any mention of tobacco.

  “All three were good people, some of the best people I’ve ever known. They gave their lives to Redwood. They are the true heroes of Redwood. Not us. Thanks, and gig ’em!”

  I stepped back from the mic. The crowd roared again. Maybe “gig ’em” was something to say in order to let the crowd know you were finished speaking. Curious tradition, I mused.

  The band started playing the first few chords of the “Aggie War Hymn.” When the main part of the song finished, everybody grabbed the shoulders of those next to them, and started swaying back and forth as they sang.

  Saw Varsity’s ho-orns o-off

  Saw Varsity’s ho-orns off

  SAW Varsity’s horns off! Short! Hey!

  Varsity’s horns are saw-awed o-off

  Varsity’s horns are saw-awed off

  VARSITY’S horns are sawed off! Short! Hey!

  “What’s a Varsity?” Dee Dee whispered to me.

  “I dunno. Whatever it is, it evidently needs its horns sawed off.”

  President Montoya took to the mic again to make a more formal speech. A woman in a business suit with pulled back hair introduced herself to us as our student counselor.

  “I’m Natasha Kotov.”

  She shook hands with each of us. When she came to Dee Dee, I felt Dee Dee flinch. I noticed Councilor Kotov’s manicured fingernails and perfect makeup. Dee Dee had neither. Her nails were plain, and she wore no makeup.

  I whispered in Dee Dee’s ear, “Remember, we’re country come to town.”

  Dee Dee smiled at me, and shook Counselor Kotov’s hand. Kotov escorted us off the platform to a waiting limo roped off from the crowds. We sped away from the spaceport toward New Bryan and the main campus.

  “Congratulations,” Councilor Kotov said. “You just made all the newspapers.”

  She handed me a vid paper. It showed a photo of me at the mic, and a headline read, “Hero of Redwood Shows Grace, Style, & Humility.”

  “Here’s another one.”

  She flicked a finger, and another front page appeared. The headline read, “True Aggie Spirit Shines Through: Hero Credits Others for Redwood Success.”

  “Not bad for a Servant.”

  “Shut up, Jason.”

  “The PR we’re getting off your speech is awesome, Marcus. Congratulations. I think you are all going to really enjoy your time here at New Texas A and M University.”

  As we sped closer to the campus, I reached across the seat to hold Dee Dee’s hand.

  “I’m sure we will.”

  BOOK II

  Redwood: Twelver

  Chapter One

  I groaned, and sank into a seat on the back row of the lecture hall. I made a freshman mistake, signing up for “Exobiology of the Outer Planets” at eight in the morning. After another long night shooting the breeze with the triplets and Dee Dee, I had about three hours sleep before stumbling to the cafeteria for breakfast and making my way over to the lecture hall.

  I sipped from a cup of coffee swiped from the cafeteria and tried to open my eyes. Professor Kim walked in, strolled over to the podium and fired up a hologram.

  In many ways, lectures haven’t changed since ancient times. Professors still speak in front of students. We have fancier technology, and students can follow along on other planets through distance learning, or be self taught through computer modules that use artificial intelligence. But transmitting knowledge and learning remains essentially the same. Somebody has to present the knowledge, and students have to absorb it. For this class, that meant showing up at eight in the morning three days a week and listening to Professor Kim discuss plants and animals unique to Alexandria, Athena, New Texas, Redwood, and Orange.

  I sipped again from my coffee, wishing I’d brought two cups.

  Down the hall gunshots rang out.

  Blam! Blam!

  Somebody screamed. I heard footsteps running.

  The door to our lecture hall burst open. A man with a rifle jumped into the room. He wore a tattered black Galactic Police uniform.

  “Long live the State!”

  Blam! Blam! Blam!

  Students screamed, dove for cover. Professor Kim ducked behind her podium.

  I winced at the sound of the shots, stood up and approached the gunman. He looked at me and fired.

  Blam! Thwip!

  The bullet went in my right shoulder. I stopped and shuddered. It hurt worse than the last time I got shot, in the assault on Redwood City. Burning hot lead.

  I took another step.

  Blam! Thwip!

  This one went in my chest. I felt ribs break and my left lung deflate. Now I was getting mad.

  I ran the final few steps.

  Blam! Thwip!

  A bullet went through my left side, the abdomen, going straight through.

  I slugged the gunman in the nose, hard as I could. He crumpled, his face blossoming red in blood.

  I slugged him in the throat, hard, thinking that would help incapacitate him. He gurgled and writhed on the floor.

  Across the hall I heard more shots.

  Blam! Blam!

  I picked up the rifle and walked out the door, went across the foyer, my own blood dripping in the hallway. Through the doorway to the opposite lecture hall, another gunman shot indiscriminately into a room filled with students.

  “Long live the State!”

  “Hey!”

  He turned, startled anyone would approach him from behind.

  “The State’s dead.”

  Blam!

  He fell backwards from the force of my shot to his head.

  “And so are you.”

  I thought it was a pithy statement, and felt kind of proud of myself for thinking it up on the fly like that. Then I blacked out.

  -+-

  I woke up to a beautiful young woman staring intently in my eyes. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tan face. She wore a uniform with the name “Stevens” on an ID badge.


  “Are you a Physician?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, I’m just a Medic. I’m pre-med, though.”

  I moved to sit up. She held me down.

  “You’ve been shot. You’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get you to the hospital.”

  “Nah. There’s a device. I don’t know the name for it. But it extracts bullets.”

  “That’s a P-FOES. Portable Foreign Object Extraction System. I’ve got one in my kit.”

  She left my field of view for a minute and returned with a device similar to what Physician Patel used on me in the Battle of Redwood. Within a couple of minutes, the bullets were out. They had deformed quite a bit inside me. Instead of smooth pieces of lead, they were flattened lumps.

  “Those hurt.”

  Stevens nodded. “They’re ten millimeter, not nine like you’re used to.”

  “Oh, you know me?”

  “I know your history, Savitch. Everybody does.”

  “I hate being famous.”

  I looked around. Medics scrambled everywhere. Several gurneys held bodies covered in white sheets. University Police roamed the hall, guns drawn, on high alert. Investigators snapped photos of the gunman I’d shot, and his victims. The first guy I’d slugged a couple times was still alive. They strapped him to a gurney and wheeled him away under armed guard.

  Stevens put a fast patch on my gunshot wounds. The one that went straight through she patched twice, front and back.

  “I need some blood.”

  She nodded in understanding, ran over to a portable blood bank somebody had wheeled in, and came back with a liter baggie marked “O+.”

  “You might not want to watch this. It’s kinda gross.”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  I shrugged, opened the baggie and gulped down the blood.

  I sighed. Already I felt better.

  “Another one, please, bartender.”

  She didn’t smile at my little joke, but retrieved another liter of O positive.

  After I drank that one down, I scrambled to my feet. She held me for balance.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? We’ve got ambulances outside. They can get you to the hospital. The University Police want to talk to you, too.”