He breathed it in, relishing the pure, earthy smell as he ascended the dozen steps into the room. Unlike most other compartments, the main garden rooms were massively tall, spanning the entire height of the ship in certain sections. They had to be that size to accommodate the veritable forest of trees and other plant life that grew within them. Walkways stretched across the expanse at varying heights all the way up to the ceiling, with stairs leading up to them. Planters were arranged throughout the space, the soil extending at least 15-20 meters beneath the walkways themselves to accommodate the root systems. Other areas of the deck would be lower-ceilinged, filled to bursting with some of the more docile crop-style plants, stretching the entire length of the deck. Sun-replicating lights made the room bright, even considering its enormous size.
A grin stretched across Jaelyn’s face. Now this was a garden.
“Can I help you?”
Jaelyn jumped. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. Turning, his gaze fell upon the woman who had spoken. Hard grey eyes regarded him from a weathered, slightly wrinkled face. Her hair was the sort of dirty brown Jaelyn associated with dying leaves, though tinged at the temples with a hint of grey.
“I’m just here for the garden,” Jaelyn said.
“Really? I thought you were here for a drink of Irish beer.”
Jaelyn blinked and opened his mouth before closing it again. Irish beer?
“This is a very delicate ecosystem,” the woman snapped, adjusting her uniform, “humidity, temperature, light saturation, soil density, pollination all have to be kept at specific levels. I can’t have some errant child wandering in here and messing up the balance. Out with you.”
“But I –”
“Out, I said.”
She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around so he was facing the door. Jaelyn was too stunned to protest. Didn’t she know who he was? Usually new crewmembers aboard one of his mother’s ships were provided an image of him so they’d know beforehand. Had she not received it? Did she simply not care? As she pushed him toward the stairs, however, he noticed something so surprising it cut through his incredulity.
“Where on Earth did you find Bartramia halleriana?” he asked, pulling out of the woman’s grip and rushing over to the edge of the nearby planter to study the thick patch of the rare moss that covered the ground between two massive trees. “I thought it had gone extinct in 2025. How do you maintain the moisture requirements without rotting out the roots of these two trees? And what about the temperature requirements? It feels like it’s around 76 degrees Fahrenheit in here. Apple moss flourishes best at around 69 degrees.” The words tumbled out in a rush, piling on top of one another like puppies at play.
The woman tugged at her ear. “Is this some sort of joke? Did Tyrel send you?”
“Who’s Tyrel?” Jaelyn asked, distractedly, dropping to his knees to study the moss more closely.
“This has to be a joke. Only a handful of people in the galaxy have even heard of Bartramia halleriana, let alone recognize it by sight. Who are you? Don’t you dare touch that moss!” she said, stomping toward him.
Jaelyn pulled his hand back quickly and got to his feet, reluctantly brushing the dirt from the knees of his jumpsuit. “Jaelyn Corrin,” he said as the woman reached him. “I guess you could call me a plant enthusiast.”
“Captain Corrin’s son?” the woman asked, seeming unimpressed. “We’ll see about the other part. What’s that yellow-tinged plant over there?”
The question came quickly, fired almost like a bullet from a gun. Thankfully, a single glance was all Jaelyn needed. “Poison oak,” he said, promptly.
“That tree over there?” she asked, pointing.
“That appears to be a Douglas fir.”
“What are the main components of a leaf?”
“Petiole, margin, veins, lobe, blade, midrib, and sinus.”
The woman frowned, though Jaelyn knew he’d answered correctly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
“I was not informed the captain’s son was a closet botanist,” she said at length.
Jaelyn shrugged. He was reclusive at best and his interest in horticulture was rather – odd – in an age of space exploration and technology. It certainly didn’t surprise him that his mother hadn’t told anyone about it.
The woman studied him a moment longer and then stuck out her hand.
“I am Dr. Alexis Martin, ship’s botanist and resident geneticist.”
Jaelyn felt his eyes widen. “The Dr. Alexis Martin? I read your paper on the genetic hybridization of the common rose and how it led to the plant’s original extinction.”
She raised an eyebrow as she shook his hand. “Heavy reading for a young man of fourteen.”
“I’m thirteen, ma’am.” He said, letting go of her hand quickly.
“Heavier still, then. You’re older than you look, and you talk like you’re at some sort of formal staff meeting.”
Jaelyn shrugged. He led a solitary life as much out of habit as a result of being isolated as the captain’s son. When his most frequent companions were books and his mother’s staff or peers, it tended to leave him speaking and acting far older than he was. Usually, at least.
“Has the captain given you a duty post yet?” Dr. Martin asked, idly picking at some dirt under one of her nails and then glancing up at him.
Jaelyn shook his head. His mother would get around to it, he was sure, but she had other things on her mind, like who her officers would be. Some political thing with the new government had kept her from choosing them beforehand. He hadn’t really paid much attention when she’d tried to explain it to him.
“How would you like to work here?”
Jaelyn grinned.
“Captain,” Sheawn Olliard said, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers beneath his perfectly square chin, “I don’t know if you can really afford not to make me the XO.”
On the other side of the desk, Amara frowned pointedly. She could detect a hint of a threat in his words, which was simultaneously odd and mildly troubling, not to mention annoying. Those aboard ship were a ramshackle bunch of former military and political exiles all but shanghaied into making this journey deep into uncharted space. This man, this Sheawn Olliard, spoke with more than the common bravado and ego of the career soldier. He spoke like a politician.
“Why is that?”
“It’s simple, really. I have the most command experience. I was an admiral in the late war, exiled to this colonial ship by spineless men bending over for the sake of peace.”
Amara arched an eyebrow. “This is a colonial ship, Crewman.” She put a little emphasis on the word “crewman,” watching for his reaction. “The officers aboard this ship will mostly just be administrators on our voyage through space. If still alive when we land at our destination, they will become government leaders. The political arena is a completely different battlefield than a military one. It’s a question of bureaucracy rather than potency.”
Sheawn smiled, not taking the bait. “Of course. I am well acquainted with the charter under which our fleet flies. I am familiar with the roster of who serves aboard her as well. Several passengers were under my command in the late war. They would be strong assets to a wise commander.”
Amara narrowed her eyes. She saw the words for what they were. If you appoint me as your XO, then we will work with you. If you don’t, well, we’ll work against you. She hated politics. She’d heard of Admiral Olliard and his exploits during the war. An armchair admiral, a politician to the core with nothing better to do than interfere with those who actually did their jobs. A man who looked good in a uniform, but knew absolutely nothing about what it really meant to be a soldier.
“You’ll be informed of my decision within the hour,” she said, her voice cool.
He stood up a little stiffly, his bushy eyebrows coming together above his nose. His face was tight and controlled.
“I trust you will make
the right decision,” he said, and left.
Amara sighed, rubbing at her temples. Each one of the other four candidates had behaved in similar manner, though none had been quite so blatant about it. While some of the three thousand colonists were here by choice, a large number of them had been essentially exiled after the war. Many of the exiles carried with them remnants of ideals and processes of thought that had no place either aboard her ship or back under Earth’s new unified rule. The Council had enough trouble keeping itself together without adding more radicals to the mix. Their “solution” had been to saddle her with the outcasts’ keeping.
Now, here they all were, headed toward the one place where neither radical nor pacifist would be of any trouble. For the Council, at least. It left Amara, however, with the threat of constant, unceasing headaches and bureaucratic nightmares. She’d have to have security personnel watch the more bothersome exiles, like this Sheawn Olliard, and ensure they didn’t incite others to actions best left back on Earth. None of the colonists needed to be reminded of what they were leaving behind or that the mission they were on could be seen as forming a penal colony as much as any true colonization.
“What am I going to do?” she thought out loud, massaging her temple with her free hand.
Any choice put her at the mercy of one faction or another. Politics was the arena of bureaucrats, not soldiers.
“Yes, Captain?” the computer’s voice asked, coming from the console on her desk.
Amara ignored it.
“How may I be of assistance?” the computer asked one final time, as it was programmed to do.
Amara sighed. “Ace, tell me how many people here have served under my command before.”
“Seventeen, Captain.”
“Are any of them capable of serving as my XO?”
“I would be unable to speculate about that, Captain.”
She’d known he wouldn’t be able to give her an answer, but it gave her the time she needed to think. She didn’t just need an executive officer, she also needed a chief engineer and a weapons officer, not to mention a master chief to look after the crewmembers who would not end up with commissions. She knew Rajesh Kuthar had volunteered for this mission. The man was a legend of organization, having spent the vast majority of his career as the diplomatic liaison between the various factions and, over the last few years, serving as the bureaucratic hand behind the effective and efficient structuring of this very mission. If she could persuade him to be the master chief, perhaps she had some hope of staying ahead of the factions remaining here aboard ship. She needed all of them to be loyal to her, or at least to the purpose of the mission itself, not some archaic way of life left behind on a planet that would no longer be their home. She had someo –
“Ace,” Amara said, reaching a decision before the rest of her thoughts even coalesced, “send for Crewman Esquina, please.”
Nathan Esquina glanced down at his wristband as it vibrated slightly and the computer’s automated voice sounded through the little speakers embedded in the intricate machine. Nathan still found it fascinating, the amount of computing power integrated into such a small device. Fully linked with the ship’s main computer, it was also an autonomous program, capable of storing terabytes of individualized data within any specific unit and functioning even when not connected to the mainframe.
“Nathan,” the computer said, “the captain would like to see you.”
“Thank you.” Nathan said, getting to his feet.
He nodded to the other clerks as he walked by, walking past where a number of them were busy doing the final calculations for their descent to the Jupiter Launching Station. They returned quizzical looks, but all he could do was shrug.
Captain Amara was an enigma among the United Fleet. The only female captain among an armada of men, she had been instrumental in the ending of the war, multiple times influencing both the outcomes of battles and peace talks with the authority of her presence. She’d been the youngest captain by at least a decade, a position earned after spending almost a year as a prisoner of war during the start of the Solar Wars. Some of the legends spoke about her in almost reverent tones. How was he to know what she wanted?
He turned right at the end of the hallway and hesitated for a moment, one finger tugging at the collar of his uniform before knocking on the captain’s door.
“Enter.” The captain’s voice sounded muffled through the heavy metal doorway. Nathan thought he heard a little weariness in her tone as well, though it could have been his own imagination grasping for some way to humanize her. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Nathan opened the door and stepped into the room.
Captain Amara sat behind her desk, face illuminated by the light from her datapad. A few wrinkles touched the edges of her expression, though clearly more from the stress of her occupation and past than from actual age. Her red-brown hair didn’t have even the hint of grey, though it was pulled back into an intricate bun behind her head. She was thin, trim, and smaller than he remembered, though it was hard to tell with her sitting as she was. Nathan hadn’t really noticed her height in the Command Bubble earlier.
She looked up after a long silence, setting aside the datapad she’d been studying. Nathan met her gaze, forcing himself not to swallow nervously at the green-grey eyes that regarded him coolly.
“Take a seat please.”
As he sat, Nathan couldn’t help but glance down at the captain’s datapad, which was still on. His own photo seemed to stare back at him from the screen. His file?
“How can I help you, Captain?” he asked, his voice expressing the true depth of his curiosity. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t fathom why Captain Amara would be looking at his file when she was in the middle of organizing her command structure. Had he done something wrong in preparing the files of the executive officer candidates earlier? He couldn’t think of anything he’d done.
“Why are you here, Nathan?”
Nathan shrugged. “You asked me to come to your office.”
She gave him a level gaze. Nathan smiled, knowing the question hadn’t been what he’d answered. So he had a sarcastic streak. So what? Wasn’t humor one of the things a good officer was supposed to have?
“Why are any of us on this journey?” he said after a moment. “Earth’s governments are unified, but we all know it won’t last or we wouldn’t be here. You can’t have that many factions sitting and stewing for that long. There’ve been too many years of in-fighting, too many geopolitical conflicts that allow patriotism to trump logic and what is good for humanity. But this ship, this colony, has the potential to be a truly unified world. Earth can slide back into its nation-states and wars, but humanity can and will continue on through us. And, just maybe, we can become a better example of what it should be.”
“A bit of a romantic, aren’t you?” Captain Amara let a little bit of a smile touch the corner of her eyes. Nathan couldn’t tell if it was a mocking one or not.
He shrugged again. There was no point in denying the obvious.
“Isn’t your father one of the Sitters on the Council now?” Where was Captain Amara headed with this line of questioning?
“He is,” Nathan said.
Captain Amara leaned back, steepling her fingers beneath her chin. “And what does he think about you coming on this voyage?”
“I didn’t ask,” Nathan said curtly. “He and I have very dissimilar political views.”
“I read your file. Highest honors from the Military Academy. I believe your scores on the aptitude tests for mechanical and technical acumen are still the current record holders. The Corps of Engineers threw a lot of money and effort into recruiting you, but you turned them down for a post close to the front lines. Why?”
“Wars are not won by machines, Captain.” He stayed away from the Corps of Engineers for the same reason he didn’t want to be part of that department now. It was simply too tempting, too addicting, to have that much power. And—well—he wasn’t sure he even
understood his aptitude with technology himself. Not really.
Amara inclined her head toward him. Nathan took it as a sign of agreement and felt a momentary flush of relief that he covered with another question.
“May I inquire about the purpose of this discussion, Captain?”
Amara gave a half a smile, a funny little quirk of the corner of her lip that instantly brightened her otherwise stern face. Nathan felt himself put at ease almost instantly.
“I’m trying to decide where to place you in my command structure.”
Nathan blinked. “Me? But I’m not even on the list of candidates.”
Amara’s lip twitched into a smile again, this time giving her eyes a soft twinkle. “A list provided by bureaucrats and politicians, all vying for their faction to have a strong foothold within the colony. When the Council granted my request to command this voyage, they gave me unilateral control of its command structure. For the time we are in space, every person aboard this convoy is under my command. Why would I then give up that power by allowing one of their cronies to become my XO?”
Explained that way, Nathan could see what she meant. That the geopolitical ideologies of Earth’s land-based traditions would continue onto the ship was an obvious and unavoidable fact. But why should she compound the issues by placing someone who supported the division in a position of command. But –
“Wait, your XO?”
“Yes,” Amara said, growing serious again, “you have little experience with such a large command, but you are an outspoken opponent of internal divisions.” She hesitated, then continued. “I served under your father for a time when I was younger. When he found out you were going to be a part of this voyage, he sent me a letter recommending you for the post of chief engineer.”
He had? Nathan hadn’t heard from his father in years. There were bitter feelings between them from the last time they had met. And that meeting had been about Nathan’s choice of post in the war. He’d never understood why Nathan hadn’t wanted advancement into the leadership roles he himself had craved. He’d never understood that Nathan’s desires in the war differed so greatly from his own. Nathan turned his focus back toward the captain, who had continued speaking.
Colonial Prime_Humanity Page 2