Heirs of the New Earth

by David Lee Summers

  Ellis turned and saw the Pequod. As with the silver ship, the whaling ship projected a yellow beam toward a star. Looking closer, the captain thought he noticed activity on the whale ship's deck, like some kind of scuffle or fight. He grabbed both oars and began to row with all his strength.

  However, it rapidly became apparent that Ellis was not making any headway toward the Pequod. Instead, he was moving away from the whaling ship and back toward the light. “No!” he shouted, trying to impose his will on the events that were happening. He tried rowing again. In spite of his efforts, he shot into the light that took him back to the lab—back to the Cluster orbiting the Earth.

  * * * *

  Unseen by Ellis, a small probe orbited a star, not too far from where he was furiously rowing. Not only was Ellis unable to see the probe, the probe could not see him, though for different reasons. Ellis did not see the probe because he was too busy concentrating on the task of rowing. The probe did not see him, since he was, in fact, nothing but a stream of electromagnetic energy existing outside the realm of visible light.

  What the probe did see were two silver clusters of spheres—one relatively close by and another rather distant. Each cluster projected a yellow energy beam toward a star that was, in turn, very slowly moving. The probe relayed the images it was recording back to the largest moon of Saturn, Titan. On Titan, a large teddy bear-like creature watched a holographic display of the probe's signal with rapt interest. She had a silver-gray pelt and she was the matron of her people and leader of the galaxy.

  She knew that by moving stars around in the center of the galaxy, that the Cluster would wreak havoc on the galaxy's gravitational tides, possibly doing untold amounts of damage.

  Her people had been slaves of the Cluster for billions of years, though. As a result, she knew two things. The Cluster—or the Intelligence, as her people knew it—loved its appendages. The Cluster would do everything in its power to keep humans and their home solar system safe. By extension, that meant that her own world would also be safe.

  Teklar also knew that if she warned the rest of the galaxy, the Cluster might seek either vengeance upon her people, destroying them; or even worse, the Cluster might enslave them again. Therefore, Teklar watched the display and did nothing else.

  * * * *

  Jerry Lawrence led Edmund Swan to a building about a block away from Tim Gibbs’ apartment complex. Inside, they climbed a flight of stairs and walked down a dark hallway. Swan adjusted his computer eye to let in more light. As he did, he noticed that the graffiti in this building had not been scrubbed clean and the wood had a faintly musty smell.

  At last, they came to a stop in front of a door and Lawrence keyed a sequence into the computer touchpad.

  Stepping inside, Swan counted four women and five men huddled around a teleholo watching the news. One of the women turned off the teleholo and stood. The others all turned care-worn expressions toward the deputy sheriff. “You must be Edmund Swan,” said the woman.

  Swan inclined his head.

  "We're the Southern Arizona faction of the resistance against the Cluster,” said the woman a little nervously, as though she was afraid that Swan would laugh at her.

  Swan looked around at the people gathered. “There's only ten of you,” he said with just a hint of despair.

  "I know,” said Lawrence in half-apology. “There are cells in other cities..."

  "But, I'm afraid our numbers are shrinking as the Cluster contacts more people.” The woman stepped forward and offered Swan her hand. “My name is Maria Gonzalez.” She then introduced the others in the room. “I believe you already know Jerry."

  Jerry smiled half-heartedly, thumbed the safety on his gun, and then tucked it in his waistband.

  "What exactly do you want with me?” asked Swan.

  "You're the same Edmund Swan from Sufiro who organized the New Granadan resistance against Tejo, are you not?” asked Gonzalez.

  Swan nodded slowly. “I am,” he said slowly. “What does that have to do..."

  Gonzalez put her hand on Swan's elbow and led him to a chair. “We are civilians, Mr. Swan. Jerry Lawrence used to repair teleholos. Carlos there—” she pointed to a man with straggly black hair “—used to be a plumber. I was a principal at one of the local elementary schools. None of us is exactly military material, but we've seen what the Cluster is doing and we don't like it. We want to stop it.” She sat down, put her hands on her knees and looked into Swan's eyes.

  "What about the police?” asked Swan, afraid he already knew the answer.

  "Those that survive,” said the man called Carlos, “are all controlled by the Cluster."

  "We need someone like you,” pleaded Jerry, “that has military experience as well as experience with the Cluster to help organize us."

  Swan took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Including people in other cities, how many of you are there in all?"

  "About a hundred and fifty that we know of,” said Gonzalez cautiously, afraid the small number would send Swan storming from the room.

  "But there are only four Clusters,” Lawrence chimed in, hopefully.

  "Do you have any armaments?” asked Swan. “Any ships?"

  Lawrence retrieved the gun from his waistband. “Only a few hand heplers."

  Swan shook his head and closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened them and looked at each face in the room. He saw the horror of people who had lost friends and loved ones. He saw people who didn't understand how it was that their world had changed so radically. He saw people afraid they were going to be next to be absorbed by the Cluster or die in the process. “I'll be honest—I don't see what chance we have, but I'll help if I can."

  Hope glimmered in several people's eyes. “That's all we ask,” said Maria Gonzalez, her own eyes bright with moisture.

  "I need to get back to Tim Gibbs’ apartment,” explained Swan. “I was supposed to meet someone. They might be able to help me get word out—help us find a ship, maybe some more armaments."

  Maria Gonzalez nodded slowly. “Good,” she said. “Go meet your friends then come back tomorrow and let us know what you learn."

  Gonzalez and Swan stood and shook hands. The deputy sheriff tried to find more words, but was only able to drop his eyes to the dirty floor, turn and make his way back to Timothy Gibbs’ apartment.

  * * * *

  Manuel Raton looked over the boat's rail. As the day wore on, he grew more accustomed to the rocking and swaying of the boat. He'd spent most of his life living in inland towns or cities, well away from large bodies of water. The only time he'd spent a significant amount of time on the water was as a teenager when he'd traveled between the continents of New Granada and Tejo on a large ocean-going vessel on the planet Sufiro. As he thought back on that voyage, he remembered it as a happy time—a time he'd bonded with another teenager, a boy named Sam Stone. Manuel's frown deepened as he thought about the greed that ultimately overtook his friend and how that greed compelled Stone to kill Manuel's parents.

  He felt the boat slow and he looked toward the bow. Fire pulled back the throttle. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  "Yeah,” she said. “We're approaching the area where Richard should be.” She activated the boat's autopilot and stepped back toward the aft rail. “Deep thoughts?” she asked, seeing his frown.

  Manuel shook his head. “Just thinking about the last time I was out this far at sea."

  "You look like you're feeling better,” she said, noting that his skin color had improved.

  He nodded and gently patted his stomach. “Still a little queasy, but I'm doing a lot better than a couple of hours ago, that's for sure."

  "Glad to hear it.” She took him in her arms and he leaned his head against her shoulder.

  They stood that way for a moment. “Are you ever sorry we got back together?” asked Manuel.

  Fire shook her head. “Not at all,” she said. She stood back and looked into Manuel's eyes and smiled. “I do miss Je
rome Ellis, but you and I have been friends since we were both children. There are few people I trust as much as you."

  Manuel took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I've just been afraid..."

  "That I'm in some kind of rebound ... going with you just because I feel I need someone in my life.” Fire shook her head and chuckled. “I'm surprised at you. I'd think you of all people would know me better than that."

  Manuel smiled, took her in his arms, and kissed her deeply. When he finally released her he caught sight of something in the distance, over her shoulder—almost like the shimmering of crystal.

  "What's the matter?” she asked.

  He pointed. “Is that a whale spout?” he asked.

  She turned and nodded slowly. “I think it might be.” The two stepped back toward the wheel. Fire gently turned the boat toward the spout. She pointed to the bottom drawer of a metal cabinet to the side of the wheel. “There are translator boxes in there."

  Manuel knelt down and retrieved the translator units. He handed one to Fire then clipped the main speaker box of the other to his belt. He put on the headset and adjusted the microphone. As they came closer, Manuel realized that there were several whales ahead. In spite of his stomach giving a slight lurch, he moved toward the boat's bow to get a closer look.

  He didn't know much about whales, but there had been a lot of pictures in the Ellis house. Almost all of them showed creatures with massive square heads and tiny—almost underdeveloped—lower jaws full of sharp teeth. These whales looked completely different. Their heads were rounder in front and more wrinkled on the top. Their jaws dominated their faces and when one opened its mouth, Manuel saw that it was filled not with teeth but with something that looked more like hair.

  Fire activated the boat's hover controls and lifted it out of the water, so the sound of its engine wouldn't disturb the whales. He looked back, his brow creased. Carefully, Fire stepped forward and put her arm around Manuel's shoulder.

  "Those whales don't look like the pictures at the Ellis home,” complained Manuel.

  "That's because they're humpback whales,” said Fire. They watched as one of the whales rolled onto its side, revealing a long, paddle-like flipper. “They're a different species than Richard."

  "Can they help us find him?” asked Manuel.

  "I doubt it,” said Fire. “Humpbacks don't care for humans very much. It's best if we keep our distance."

  "Why don't they like humans?” asked Manuel.

  "Because humans almost hunted them to extinction,” said Fire. She looked up toward the sky. “We didn't stop until the late twenty-first century. That's when Myra Lee first recognized that the whales were communicating with the Titans."

  Manuel sighed, feeling a momentary pang of regret at being born a human. His childhood friend, Sam Stone, wasn't the only monster. He looked back to the whales. “Can we at least listen to them, hear what they're saying?"

  "We can try,” said Fire. “Keep in mind that humpback whales speak in song. They don't talk to each other quite the same way we do."

  Manuel put his hand to his ear and listened carefully to the receiver. He heard a reference to the land-apes that ply the water on floating islands. Fire pointed to some smaller whales in the distance. “I think they're talking about us,” she said.

  "How ironic,” sang one whale, “that the land-apes are at the mercy of creatures such as us; creatures that do not build tools of their own; creatures that but swim the depths of space."

  "They're aware of the Cluster?” Manuel whispered to Fire.

  "Whales are aware of a great many things,” she said, then shushed him. She tuned her translator and then nodded. Tapping Manuel on the shoulder, she pointed to the setting and indicated that he should also adjust his translator box.

  When he did, he heard a different song. “For us, the art is the song, the composition, the memory of what was and the dreams of what will be. For the land-apes, the art is the death, plunder of the world and taking more than they give back."

  "How are the land-apes different from the spermaceti?” came an eerie refrain. Fire inclined her head as she listened and tapped a button on her translator.

  "For the spermaceti, the art is the hunt, the chase, the challenge. They hunt and are hunted. They exist in balance with the world."

  Fire turned off her translator and stepped back toward the boat's wheel, then put the unit next to the computer. Manuel stepped up next to her and watched as she started a program. A moment later, a set of coordinates appeared above the holographic dais.

  "What's that?” asked Manuel.

  "That's where we'll find the sperm whales,” said Fire. “You see, part of what makes humpbacks hard to understand is that their songs are multi-layered and contain more information than just the words. When they talked about the sperm whales, they also happened to tell us where we could find them."

  "And Mark's friend, Richard?"

  Fire shook her head. “Not exactly, but if we find a pod of sperm whales, they'll be a lot more willing to talk to us and help."

  Manuel pursed his lips while looking out at the pod of humpback whales. “I'm surprised any whale is willing to help humans after what we've done to them."

  Fire nodded. Then, with the boat still in hover mode, she turned away from the humpbacks and drifted a distance away before dropping back into the water so they could continue on their way.

  * * * *

  When Edmund Swan returned to Timothy Gibbs’ apartment he found an eight-foot tall Rd'dyggian warrior in a black turtleneck shirt glaring at a stout woman wearing a TransGalactic blazer and blue slacks, her hands on her hips.

  Swan cleared his throat and the two looked up at him. The woman's surprise at his entrance seemed genuine. Though the Rd'dyggian also looked surprised, Swan couldn't help but feel the surprise was nothing but an affectation.

  The woman stepped forward, her hand extended. “You must be Edmund Swan. Good to meet you at last. I'm Kirsten Smart.” As the deputy sheriff took her hand, Kirsten looked into his mismatched eyes and her breath caught. She quickly turned her eyes to Gibbs. “How's he been doing?"

  Swan smiled nervously as he released Kirsten's hand. “Who can tell? He's been like that most of the time since I've been here."

  "But he does have periods of consciousness?” asked Kirsten.

  "About every ten hours he wakes for an hour then goes back under.” Swan looked down at his wrist chrono. “He's due to wake any minute."

  Swan looked up at the Rd'dyggian warrior and pursed his lips. All of the Rd'dyggians that Swan knew liked to wear loose-fitting garments and made large, loping movements. This one stepped up to Swan with almost delicate precision and introduced himself. Seeing the open case on Gibbs’ kitchen table, Swan stepped past G'Liat and examined the device within using his computer eye. “I've heard about these brain scan devices,” he said. “I don't know exactly how I feel about them."

  "As a law enforcement official,” said G'Liat, “I would think you would find such a device very useful for interrogation."

  Swan gritted his teeth. “Devices like that violate too many basic rights,” he said, shaking his head. “I'd only agree to its use in the gravest of emergencies."

  "That's just what we were talking about when you walked in,” said Kirsten. “G'Liat would like to use the device on your friend now, but I was trying to persuade him to wait until your return."

  The warrior stepped between the deputy sheriff and Kirsten so quickly and quietly that Swan jumped in spite of himself. “Actually what I'd like to know is where you were. Why weren't you here?"

  Kirsten shot the warrior an angry look and Swan opened his mouth to answer, but a shuffling from Gibbs’ armchair interrupted everyone. The computer technician blinked in surprise at the new people occupying his apartment. He smiled nervously and waved as he rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. When he was finished, he stepped out and made his way over to the kitchen.

  "Tim,” said
Swan, “I'd like you to meet two friends of mine: Kirsten Smart and G'Liat."

  Gibbs punched his order into the food preparation unit then turned on Swan. “Edmund, I don't mind you being here, but I'd appreciate the courtesy of being asked before you invite people into my home."

  Swan started to say something but Kirsten held up her hand. “We won't stay long,” she said. “We've heard a little about the project you're working on."

  "We're curious,” interjected G'Liat. “We'd like to know more."

  Gibbs brightened for a moment, then his eyes narrowed as he evaluated G'Liat. “Rd'dyggians are warriors and pragmatic to the extreme. Why would you be interested in an advanced computer project?"

  Kirsten's jaw dropped. Even though she didn't have much love for G'Liat personally, she was shocked to hear such a sweepingly racist statement from the engineer. G'Liat cleared the distance from the table to Gibbs in a single step and looked down into the engineer's face.

  "I will remind you, Mr. Gibbs that Rd'dyggians were in space while your kind were still killing each other with the bones of animals.” His voice was soft, but so icy that it sent chills down Swan's spine.

  Edmund took two steps forward and put a hand on G'Liat's chest. “Tim's been working awfully hard,” he said, trying to think of the right words to pacify a potentially dangerous situation. He examined the Rd'dyggian warrior with his computer eye, but found the readings hard to interpret. He turned his attention to his friend. Dots of perspiration broke out on Gibbs’ upper lip.

  "I'm sorry,” said Gibbs slowly. “I didn't mean to offend.” He looked down to the floor. A moment later, a chime sounded, indicating his dinner was finished. Standing a little too quickly, he upset his chair. Hands shaking, he took his food from the unit and carried it around the eight-foot tall warrior to the table. With a certain grace, G'Liat righted Gibbs’ chair and held it for him.

  Kirsten looked up at G'Liat with a frown, and then joined Gibbs at the table. “I'm afraid we've gotten off on the wrong foot,” she said, gently. When Gibbs looked up, she smiled reassuringly. “I'm a cartographer for TransGalactic."