by Mark Wandrey
“Damn it!” Minu growled and ran as they started to zero in on her garden. The first car had already set down by the time she got there, a hundred sixty five centimeters of pissed off redhead descended on the driver just as the door was rotating up. “Get off my garden asshole!”
“Minu Groves?” asked the man, a thin bookish looking man that seemed somehow familiar to her.
“You know damn well who I am! Don't let them land those beasts on my garden, damn it, it'll take me weeks to re-till that soil!”
“I'm Dr. Theodore Engles,” he said and held out a hand.
“Good for you,” she replied; no doubt he thought she recognized the name. The first large truck grounded and a dozen square meters of her garden was flattened. Her blood pressure shot up. “Get the fuck off my island!”
“We had an appointment, Mrs. Groves!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Another truck was coming in and Minu was considering going into the house and getting a shock rifle.
“Your assistant, Ms. Beck, set this up with you? She assured me the arrangements were made. Director Porter will be here in a few hours…”
The pieces finally fell in place. The Plateau Historical Society. She remembered an email from Ariana that had come in a couple days before she left for the weekend. It wasn't flagged important, now she suspected what it was about. Shit. She couldn't exactly start shooting up their cars with a shock rifle if they were invited.
“Right,” she said and forced a smile. The man beamed and offered his hand, which she took as warmly as she could.
“What the hell is this?” Aaron asked, coming up behind her.
“My husband, Aaron Groves. Aaron, this is Dr. Engles from the hysterical society.”
The well dress man cocked an eyebrow and Minu didn't even realize her Freudian slip. Aaron had caught it and he beamed at the guy, giving him a wink before shaking his hand as well.
Minu quickly got them organized and managed to keep them from completely obliterating her garden. The island was less than two square kilometers as it was and the cabin was way too small to host the two dozen researchers Dr. Engles had brought with him. Her complaints were cut off as the workers began setting up ingenious little floating docks just off the shore. By the time noon rolled they assembled an impressive off shore facility complete with living quarters and research labs. That was when Director Porter arrived.
They were almost opposites, the two researchers. Where Engles was thin and effete, Porter was massively fat and masculine almost to a fault. He actually bowed over Minu’s hand and gave her a wink as he introduced himself.
“Alexander Porter, director of Founder Studies, Plateau Historical Society. Honored to meet you, Chosen Groves.”
“The honor is all mine,” she said as she offered her hand and glanced at where Aaron stood by the cabin door, observing the kloth-and-pony show. His eyes narrowed dangerously as Porter brushed the back of her hand with his lips. Minu gave her husband a little wink, but to no effect. Aaron had never been forgiving of any flirtatious behavior. Lucky for them both, she was not that sort of a girl.
“We intend to be as little disruption as possible. The society is grateful for letting us have this opportunity.”
“Can you give me a better idea of what you are here for?”
“Of course. We've long known that the majority of your ancestors are buried on this island. Billy and Mindy Harper had five children, only one of whom survived to herself have children. Near the end of the colonial days, about a hundred years after the foundation of Plateau, there were some records lost. The colonists endeavored to switch to indigenous records keeping as quickly as possible.”
“Meaning paper instead of data?”
“Exactly. The problem with that media is it is susceptible to environmental conditions. A roof was damaged in a storm and several boxes of records were destroyed. Ironically if they'd saved the water damaged files, we'd have been able to restore them with Concordian technology. But that is neither here nor there.
“You see, the mystery is the fate of Mindy Harper herself. Shortly after her husband’s death, she left on an expedition to the southern continent with several towns members. The outcome of that expedition is unknown.”
“Mindy came back and died of old age,” Minu said, reciting from what her father had taught her many years ago. “She's buried here with the rest of her family.”
“And we are going to verify that. With your permission, of course.”
* * *
The research team was composed of professional archaeologists and scientists. But beyond that they also were members of a historical society and were cautious of whose hallowed ground they trod upon. Laser grid scanners were deployed and the island was mapped down to the millimeter.
Then they went to work on the burial plot. Minu had always known the area of the graves, but not the exact locations. Down past the cabin, along the shore, at the highest point of the island, her father had explained. So it was there she took the researchers, the she left them to their work.
It was the morning of the next day, Sunday, before one of the researchers disturbed the pair. Minu and Aaron were playing a game of chess and chatting about her idea of making a human built starship.
Aaron liked what he heard but she hadn't gotten to her thoughts on humanity leading a new expansion into space, perhaps to un-colonized worlds, new virgin planets that had not evolved to the point of habitability when the Lost fell from the stage. Who knew, maybe there were even other spacefaring species in the galaxy. It might behoove them to remain quiet, not attract anyone’s attention. The neighbors have itchy trigger fingers.
A knock on the door made them both look up in surprise. The researchers had been so quiet that they'd honestly forgotten their island teamed with visitors. They looked at each other and laughed as Minu hopped up to answer the door. Halfway there she looked over her shoulder quickly. “And don't touch my bishop!” she snapped, Aaron jerking his hand back not quite quick enough to pull it off. Smiling, she opened the door.
“Chosen Groves,” the young researcher said nervously.
“What can I do for you? Almost finished?”
“Not quite. Director Porter wanted to show you something...significant.”
Minu glanced at Aaron who looked up from studying the chess board and shrugged. “Be right back. Think about how you’re going to save that rook.”
Outside the young researcher led Minu to the area she'd given them to search for the graves. They'd settled on the far side, more inland than she'd expected her ancestor’s remains to be interned. A series of Concordia-built sensor devices were deployed on human manufactured tripods.
As she approached she realized they were each over a grave, seven in total. Porter had his massive frame bent over a table holding a dozen compact holographic display tanks, scratching his chin. As she approached he noticed her, looking up and smiling he motioned he to approach.
“You needed me?”
“Yes, I think it is important that you see this. As is obvious, we have located the graves. They have small markers, carved from the local stone.” He pointed to one display where a three dimensional image of a grave marker hovered:
Billy Harper
1981 AD – 023 AE
Beloved husband, best father, good friend
The carving was simple but legible.
“We found them under about five centimeters of loam and decaying plant matter. They were not vertical markers like you see in most cemeteries on Plateau.” He touched a control and another display became larger, taking her attention.
It was a scanning of the ground under the grave. It reminded her of a wire drawn image used by some imagers on the Kaatan spacecraft. Hints of the wood from a casket, rocks, other parts of the ground, and a clearly definable skeleton nestled in the center. Its skull face stared out at her, arms folded across the chest.
“If this is too much, I can skip this part.”
“Direc
tor Porter, I am a two star Chosen. I've seen enough death that this representation is hardly of any emotional concern.”
“I apologize. Still, this is your family, and I only wish to be considerate of your feelings.” She gave a little nod and he proceeded. The scanned image moved over the skeleton’s torso where she could see broken ribs. She pointed at the anomaly. “Exactly. This conforms to the historical account of how Billy Harper died. Massive blunt force trauma to the abdomen. He was trampled by a kloth.”
Better than mauled by one, Minu thought, unconsciously making a fist of her right hand.
“Next is the grave of their oldest daughter, Alice.”
For an hour he went through the graves one at a time. Some he was more interested in than others. Mindy and Billy's youngest child, a boy named Adam, had been born only two years before his father’s death. He'd been lost during an outbreak of influenza that came with a traveler from the newly discovered Summit tribe. Two dozen other young colonists succumbed to that plague as well.
As the examination went on, Minu was struck with just how tragic it had all been for her storied ancestor. To be the one most responsible for saving those around the American gate, defeating a government plot that would have seen only rich, powerful, greedy types come over with lots of worthless equipment. Then spending the rest of her life raising children that died one after another, leaving only one girl behind until her husband was killed as well.
“What about Mindy?” Minu heard herself asking amid a discussion by the director and several of his older scientists.
“That's the reason I asked you to come out,” he explained as he typed instructions into the computer. Despite her own assurances, she felt herself getting nervous as the display changed. Was she really ready to look at the remains of her ancestor that way?
A hand strayed unconsciously to stroke the sapphire held by its dualloy chain around her neck. No-one had said anything for a minute before she realized there was silence.
On the display was the same coffin shape she'd seen several times before, rocks surrounding the shape and other debris. It was completely normal, except there was no skeleton. “Um, where is the body?”
“That's exactly what we were wondering,” spoke the thin Dr. Engles. “And based on some of the accounts we have from other records, this is not unexpected.”
“I'm afraid I don't understand.”
Director Porter spoke up again. “You see, there was an account by a woman, a daughter of one of Mindy Harper's friends, left shortly before her death. It amounted to an encounter with Mindy before she left on her expedition. She was instructed to place this grave.”
“But Mindy isn't in there?”
“Yes, instructed to place an empty coffin and this marker.” He touched a control and the image of the marker appeared. “Mindy Harper” was all it said. No dates or other items. And unlike the others, this was almost crude. It looked no better than she believed it would have if she'd done it herself.
“You mean to say you think Mindy Harper went off on her expedition, and never returned?”
He simply gestured at the empty coffin as his reply, then motioned to another researcher who wore a lab coat and carried a Concordia made biological sampling device. “We'd like to perform the test on you we requested earlier.”
Minu suddenly felt a little dizzy with concern, the cold hand of fear clenching at her heart. Chriso Alma all those years ago, upset at the then-director of the Historical Society requesting a genetic test of Minu. Her first instinct was to refuse the test. How dare they question who she was? What were they even suggesting?
“Why is this necessary?”
Porter cocked an eyebrow then looked around at all the other expectant faces.
“Can you give me and the Chosen here some privacy please?”
A moment later she was alone with him and Engles. “Now, I completely understand your trepidation in this situation.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Porter, I don't believe you do.”
He sighed and gave a little indifferent shake of his head then a shrug. “I can see your point of view. But I would hope you can see ours as well. It now seems a possibility that one of our most famous bloodlines is in question. I don't see how this could affect you in any real way.”
“The Harper family line is a huge part of our family history.”
“I know that, Chosen, but you have yourself brought nearly more fame to your own name as any that could be lent from the ancient family of Mindy and Billy Harper. Tens of thousands are alive and living better lives because of your inventions and exploits. You've saved the planet from alien aggression at least twice. Are you seriously concerned that should you be not related to the Harper line in a way you believed, that this somehow—”
“A name is more part of your identity than you realize,” she cut in, more defensively than she'd intended.
She almost mentioned the sapphire she wore around her neck. A stone her father said came from Mindy, a gift given by Billy Harper on their anniversary in Tranquility. The first native mined rare gem.
Porter looked at her for a long moment, as did Engles. Minu felt her cheeks flush, then it quickly turned to anger. Porter eventually nodded his head. “Okay, I see your point of view. Perhaps we have as little to be gained by determining you are not directly descended from Mindy Harper as you have to lose from finding out the same. However, history is important to us as a people.
“Humanity is an orphan, Mrs. Groves. As a people we have little faith. My ancestors were Catholic. I've read a lot of history on religions on Earth. Aside from the Jews in New Jerusalem and a small but vocal core of Shinto followers in Peninsula, there aren't many we would call religious on Bellatrix.
“I would even hazard to say that there is more of a religion around the Chosen than any sort of deity worship. But without that faith in our lives, what is left? Our history, for the most part. Look at the following of old Earth movies in theaters. Sales for five hundred year old movies outpace our own by five to one. Our cities are named after Earth cities. Our burgeoning sports leagues are copying those from Earth. What do we have except our history?”
Minu wanted to disagree with at least some of what the man said, but unfortunately couldn't. As a fan of history she knew he was telling the truth. The Rangers wouldn't exist without her studying the history of Earth military units. The shock rifles were inspired by Earth military weapons, as were Aaron and Gregg's Enforcers. Her entire drive to move humanity from obscurity to some prominence in the galaxy was inspired by her feeling that mankind should have a better history than it was experiencing. We have to be meant for something more!
“Do it,” she agreed finally.
Aaron looked up when the cabin door opened four hours later. He was about to look away when he saw tears in her eyes, and in an instant he was up and moving towards her. “What happened?”
Minu shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes as she deftly dodged her husband and made her way to the liquor cabinet. Aaron stopped and watched as his nearly teetotaling wife poured a rare shot of whiskey, neat, and slugged it back.
After putting the glass down she held out her hands, more tears leaking down her face. Aaron picked up where he left off and came to her. She folded herself into his powerful arms. He was only a few centimeters taller than her so her head fit comfortably on his shoulder. “Are they finished out there?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, “the last transport was taking off as I came back in.”
“So can you tell me now why Darth Vader is crying?”
Minu coughed and gave a little laugh, taking her head off his shoulder and looking him in the eye. All the things he'd seen her go through in their time together, including those horrendous hours together on the Kaatan after finding out she was pregnant with their child, then losing it, then finding out Lilith was that child, none of them compared to the look of loss and confusion on her face.
“They did the genetic test on me.”
“So? Why did that affect you like this?”
She reached up to her neck and felt the sapphire hanging there. “Chriso isn't my father.”
Interlude
March 2nd, 534 AE
Leasehold Office Comptroller, Government Complex, Nexus
The Office of Leaseholds on Nexus was considered a select job among the bureaucratic class of civil servants that thronged to the capital world of the Concordia. Many of the millions of jobs were considered political by nature. As species gained prominence or lost favor those positions came and went. Depending on a species’ place within the galactic hierarchy, one office or another was assigned to them for control. All except two offices, those of War and Leaseholds. Those two were reserved for the Higher Order species only.
It was the luck of those beings who snuck in through favors or subterfuge, or were just skilled enough to be assigned to the Office of Leaseholds, because it was an easy assignment that never turned over. Do your job, don't piss any powerful Higher Order species off, and you get to serve until retirement. And unlike the War Office, few members of the Higher Orders preferred the assignments. They were just too dull.
Ataalan, a member of the Traaga species, explained his average day to a nest-mate once after a trip home to Coorson. “I sit and stare at data updates on uninhabited but claimed worlds all day.”
The other Traaga had stared at him with wide, amazed eyes. Most would sell one of their extra limbs for such a wonderfully boring job. He was the only Traaga to work in the office, and one of only a few hundred even employed on Nexus. It was an unfortunate fact that many of the Higher Order species found his people… distasteful.
Ataalan took no notice of the prejudice his kind lived under every day. His apartment on Nexus was larger than the space his entire family shared on Coorson, and it was included in his pay. By eating only food he brought with him and taking public transports, he brought home nearly 90% of his income. And on Coorson, that was a lot.